


Beyond the Crossroads: Regicide

by RagnarokAscendant, WrittenEmber



Series: Beyond the Crossroads [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandonment Issues, An assassin adopts a child, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artificial Intelligence, Assassins are best parents, BFG, Betrayal, Bullying, Coffee Addiction, Cookies, Dark Magic, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Glen terrifies everyone, In the grim darkness of the far future there is no subtlety, Industrial Revolution, Large German Space Wolves, Magic-Users, Muteness, Negotiations through firepower, Offscreen Moments of Awesomeness, Plasma is Fun, Politics, Protectiveness, Religious Conflict, Sci Fi versus fantasy, Some people are morons, Stabbity stabbity, The care and handling of your miniature devil person, Uplift, Voicelessness, Why Did It Have To Be Snakes, grievous bodily harm, holograms, papa wolf, split soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 45
Words: 78,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9941441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagnarokAscendant/pseuds/RagnarokAscendant, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenEmber/pseuds/WrittenEmber
Summary: Rewritten version of Reginacide. Now with past tenses and proper chapters!Renma didn't know how she'd ended up in this inn. But she knew she needed help to save Greenstone.And, as is traditional, fate furnished her with a companion to take back. One more than skilled enough to do what needed to be done.Glen Abraham Carviss.Now complete!Note that this and everything following it is rough copy- if and when it may be published in dead tree format, it may be drastically different. Fair warning.Feedback is encouraged.





	1. A strange encounter in a very strange inn

Somewhere along the way, the tunnels had vanished. What replaced them, Ren couldn’t say. It was all shifting darkness and faded echoes. A void. By the time she realized what she had wandered into, it was too late; the path back had vanished, and the only way left was forward. Or at least, whatever direction she was facing. She didn’t even know which direction that was anymore.

But she kept walking, stumbling on through nothing until, very suddenly, there was something.

A lantern, its light the only one in the endless blackness around her. It shone on a door set in a wall she couldn’t quite focus on. The only clear detail was a sign: Crossroads Inn. Ren ran forward, and the door swung open at her touch, admitting her to what proved a sizable tavern, here in the heart of nothing.

Inside was bright and warm, a haven. She didn’t know where this place was or how she’d reached it, and in that moment, she didn’t much care; she was just glad to shut the door on the void and finally be somewhere. Anywhere.

Even if this, she had to admit, was a rather strange somewhere.

The room was lit by globes of blue light, and by a soundless, smokeless fire in a large hearth. A worn, wood-topped bar stretched the length of the room, and long tables crowded the space between there and the door. The patrons scattered about the space made for startling company. They came in every shape and size, and every color; some covered in scales or in fur, some with missing limbs, or extra ones. Not a one of them was demeki, though a few were close, lacking only the horns and tail, and appearing otherwise normal.

All of the tables were occupied, so she went up to the bar. The only other person sitting there was a man, one of the almost-demeki. He was hunched over the bartop, anonymous under a flat cap and a long coat, an unfamiliar device slung across his back. She recognized a trigger. Some kind of weapon?

Hesitantly, she took a seat a few stools away from the armed stranger, her tail twitching with nerves. She leaned her elbows on the counter, tired and wary, hollowed out by loss and the persistent anxiety of the hunted.

“If you need a drink, you’re in the right place.”

Ren looked up. The stranger was watching her. His face was weathered and worn, a few thin scars barely visible against tanned skin. She caught a glimpse of armor plates under that heavy coat, as he shifted his weight slightly. He gave her a look, nursing his drink, and waited for an answer.

“Oh. Um.” She dropped her eyes, embarrassed to be caught staring. “Not really. I just sort of… landed here.” _Wherever ‘here’ is_ , she thought, looking around.

The man chuckled. “Join the club. All I know is, drinks are free, board is free, and it’s some sort of crossroads between universes. Fun place. So, what’s your story?”

Between universes? Ren blinked. That… answered certain questions. And raised others.

As for his question… She sighed. “Long.”

The man shrugged. “I’ve got time.” He looked her up and down. “Magical civilization? Let me guess: runaway, probably falsely accused of a crime.”

Ren felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. If that was a guess, it was uncannily accurate. She hesitated, unsure if she should answer him. Who was this man?

“Well, yes,” she admitted, slowly. “Not falsely, though. I’m charged with treason, and I suppose it is rather treasonous to accuse one’s queen of using corrupt magic to kill hundreds of people, and endanger the lives of hundreds more. Even if it’s true. Especially if it’s true.” A bitter note had crept into her voice. She pressed her lips together and looked away. She shouldn’t be saying these things.

“Huh. How do you know it’s her? What’s she doing?”

“She’s stealing Essence,” said Ren. He quirked an eyebrow. Not a Weaver, then. Not that she’d really expect him to be, without horns. That was like expecting a blind man to be a painter. “The energy around a person or thing,” she clarified. “She’s pulling it out of islands all over the Reaches, so much that some of them destabilize and fall from the sky. My… my home…” A deep breath. “My village. Was on one that fell.” She stopped, staring at the bartop without seeing it. Those were memories she didn’t want to revisit. Not now. She pushed them away, and continued in a thin voice. “But that’s not even the worst of it.”

He raised an eyebrow again. “What is?”

“She’s not just pulling Essence out of the islands. She doing it to _people_. Her own people, even. Her Court.”

Ren shook her head, and laughed humorlessly. “At the start, I thought the falling islands was some kind of natural disaster, something wrong in the flow of the Essence, and I went to Greenstone for help. No Weaver I could find had any more idea than I did what was wrong, but Greenstone has mancers. Theirs is a different kind of magic from mine; I hoped they might be able to do something.” She sighed. “They were no help. They couldn’t explain the falling islands, and they weren’t inclined to try. They had their own problem to deal with. There was a ’sickness’ in the Court.”

The man nodded.

Once she started talking, she couldn’t seem to stop. She told him everything. All that she’d seen, what she’d found buried in the archives, and what she’d figured out. Going to Verlel and how it went wrong for the both of them. How she had fled.

By the end of it, the man could have been carved from stone. Was he even breathing?

“She’s targeting children,” he said, as he slowly turned his head to look at her again.

Ren nodded. “And the younger they are, the worse it affects them. The nurseries…” She paused, remembering the empty nests. “The nurseries are empty now,” she said softly. She looked up at him. “It’s so plain to me, but I’m a Weaver; the mancers can’t see what I can. And without proof, no one will believe that any Queen would corrupt the Bond that way.”

The man nodded, hands curling into fists on the bar’s counter. “You have me at your back, then, child of the Reaches. If you can find us a way back, I will ensure she pays.” His voice was level and calm, but not in any remotely reassuring way. “I would know your name.”

She hesitated, the end of her long tail flicking uncertainly. The Queen wanted her dead. Going back might well lead to exactly that. But if anyone could put a stop to the monarch’s predations, Ren thought this man, with his hard, sharp eyes, was it. She had to play her part in it, no matter where it might lead. “Renma. And I can do that,” she said, meeting that unnerving gaze.

The man nodded, tipping the brim of his flat cap towards her, and stood. “Then do so, and we will go hunting.”

Ren got up and crossed to the door of the inn. Outside, the restless blackness had not changed; this place between worlds existed only within itself. Beyond its walls, nothing. And everything.

Had she thought it would look different? Expected a path, or some hint of the way back that had eluded her before? Foolish. There was nothing. Ren stared at it, stymied. She put her hand on the hilt of her knife, the one Verlel had given her. It’s magic had brought her here, she was sure. She drew it, and held it firmly in her hand as she faced the void. Closing her eyes and looking with her Sense, the darkness lit up with flowing currents of Essence. But she could read no meaning in them. The knife didn’t help.

“I…” She turned toward the man, trying to think how to tell him that she didn’t know the way back.

He wasn’t there.

Her eyes flew open. Yes, he was. She adjusted her focus, so that his Essence should have been visible around him. There was nothing.

The knife slipped out of her grasp in her shock, sticking blade first in unground with a dull thud, a fingerwidth from her foot. She barely noticed. “You… your Essence… you don’t have any!”

The strange man followed her, long coat flowing with his movements, and tapped the armor plates she’d glimpsed underneath. “The vest hides me from magic,” he said. “Useful in my line of work. Now, you were saying?”

Ren stared. That was the creepiest thing she’d ever seen. It was like he wasn’t even real. “Oh,” she said. It came out in a rather small voice. “Um. Right. The way back. I… It’s…”

She looked over her shoulder.

There was a thread.

It was thin and ragged. Barely a flicker of energy. But it trailed from her own Essence and away into the void. The way she had come? Why hadn’t she seen it before?

“Right there,” she finished.

“Let’s go, then,” he said, pulling a mask from under his coat. Flat, with round red lenses, it stared into the void as he put it on, removing his cap briefly to slide the straps over his head.

She bent to pick up the knife, and the path vanished. She set it back down, and the threat reappeared again.

“It will take you away,” said Ren softly, to herself. Those had been Vel’s words. She stroked the blade’s honeywood handle. It was meant to get her safely away; it wasn’t made to lead her back. If she was smart, she wouldn’t _go_ back. She would stay here, where no one -- save her strange new companion -- knew she was traitor to Queen and Court.

Ren couldn’t do that. She stuck the blade into the unground and sunk it easily to the hilt. And left it there.

Eyes unfocused, relying on that slender trail of Essence to guide her, Ren stepped out into the shifting shadows. A few steps in, she looked back, to reassure herself that the inn and the stranger were still there.

The Crossroads Inn had vanished entirely. Behind her, the stranger stood in shifting blackness, nothing beyond him but more of the same.

“Stay close,” she said, part warning and part plea.

He nodded.

Ren returned her attention to the guiding thread of Essence. She followed it haltingly, for what seemed a much longer distance than she had crossed coming the other way.

The trail gradually grew dimmer, began to fade… and disappeared. Ren stopped, staring hard at the blackness in front of her. Her heart beat faster, slow panic rising. But as she searched, increasingly desperate, for the lost path, she realized that the Essence around her had taken on a familiar feel. Stillness, weight, a timeless, hollow space…

The stranger tapped her on the shoulder. She startled, turning. He pressed a small, hard bundle into her hand. “Night goggles,” he said quietly. “Dark down here, and we don’t want to be spotted if you make a light. Put them on.”

Ren did, and was surprised when the darkness resolved itself into red-tinted clarity. She could easily make out the rough-hewn walls of a tunnel. It led into darkness in front and behind her and the stranger, with no hint left of the void at all.

Oh, thank Hearth Mother. They’d made it!

The darkness ahead began to lighten, and she heard low murmurs, distant speech.

“Search party,” the stranger said flatly, red lenses turning to watch her. “Looking for you?”

Any satisfaction in having successfully navigated the void evaporated. Ren quailed. "Probably."

The stranger grunted, then slipped his weapon off his back. It resembled a crossbow, but minus the limbs and with a long, rectangular metal tube in place of the forebody. He leaned it against the tunnel wall, then turned to face the distant light. “This will have to be quiet,” he said softly, reaching for his belt and drawing a pair of knives. One was curved, the broad blade canted forward, while the other was a slim, dark needle of metal. He paused for a moment, then drew three more knives, short, sharp things, holding them alongside the needle in the knuckles of his left hand.

“Stay here.”

He trotted towards the still-unseen search party, footsteps silent.

A half-dozen guards in full armor rounded the corner, the one in the lead carrying a torch. The stranger's arm blurred, and half of them collapsed, clutching at the knives embedded in their throats. The torch hit the ground, and went out.

The stranger darted forward before the bodies had hit the ground, blades swinging, and two more guards collapsed, one missing his head, the other falling as the needle slipped through his ribs to the heart. The last guard turned to run, but the stranger grabbed him, sheathing the needle to do so, and slammed him into the tunnel wall, raising the broad knife.

Stunned by the sudden outbreak of violence, and how quickly it all happened, Ren managed to find her voice just before the blade could come down. "Wait," she said, stepping forward. "I... don't know where we are. He can lead us up to the Underhalls." It was all she could do to keep her voice steady.

The stranger paused, then sheathed the blade, stepping back from the guard. “Your problem now,” he said.

Ren turned her attention to the remaining guard, who had collapsed onto hands and knees, gasping for breath.

She hesitated, then approached him. "Take us to the Archivists wing," she said, as firm and demanding as she could manage. " _Now_."

The guard got to his feet slowly, looking around blindly. “Oh gods, please don't kill me,” he whimpered.

"We're not going to," said Ren. She felt shaken, and was trying hard not to look at the bodies on the floor. But she couldn't let on to the guard that she was unsure of herself. If he tried anything stupid, she had no doubt the stranger would kill him. "You're going to help us get out of these tunnels and back into the Underhalls." She put a hand on his shoulder, turning him to face the direction he and the other guards had come from, then stepping back out of reach before he could get ideas. "Don't try to run. You're blind without a light, while we can see just fine, so it wouldn't work out well. Just walk, slowly, and I'll tell you what we come to and you tell me which way we need to go. Alright?"

The guard nodded quickly, and began to walk as she had instructed. The stranger followed behind them both, weapon slung back over his back.

When Ren had fled into the tunnels, she hadn't been as blind as the guard was now -- she'd had the chance to Weave a faint light to take with her into the dark passages -- but she'd had no idea where she was going. Only that she had to keep moving. Nothing, now, looked familiar, and the winding path the guard led them on seemed convoluted enough that she wondered if he might be leading them in circles.

About the time that that suspicion began to ripen, they came up into a hall she recognized.

"Stop," she told the guardsman, voice low but hard. "I'll lead now. I know the way from here."

He stopped, then nodded. But he stayed ahead of her.

Ren wasn't having that. If he was going to run, this would be the place to try it. She moved around in front of him, leaving him to the stranger's supervision. That would, she hoped, be encouragement enough to keep quiet and behave himself. He responded by walking practically on her heels, and every time she looked back, he had his head down, eyes on the floor, apparently eager to show he was indeed behaving himself. She felt a pang of sympathy.

She led them on into the Underhalls, domain of Archivists and mancers. This was the part of Greenstone castle that she knew best, and she guided them easily away from the main corridors and through the side passages. She took the goggles off; the way was lit now by spelled stones, mancer work, glowing softly in plain iron sconces along the walls.

It was quiet; the area seemingly deserted. Even so, Ren moved slowly. Court architecture was entirely bereft of doors, relying instead on curtains, privacy walls, and short, curving passages to block sightlines into adjoining rooms. It made for a distressing number of opportunities to come upon someone unexpectedly. Somehow, the fact that they didn't only made her even more nervous. Where was everyone?

It seemed to bother the stranger, too, judging from the hunch of his shoulders, and the way he kept his eyes on their captive. “Quiet,” he said softly.

“Too quiet,” she agreed. "It's not usually like this..."

The guard huffed.

"What?" she asked him, still walking. “If you know what’s going on, tell us.”

He didn't answer. Ren glanced back solely to frown at him, but his eyes were still down and he didn't see it.

Soon enough, however, they reached her goal: the Archivists wing. She bypassed the library and the nearby honeycomb of studies and offices, leading them instead to an out-of-the-way chamber full of forgotten furniture draped in dust cloths. A dozen doorways opened off the central space, draped with colorful curtains to afford privacy to the small room beyond each.

"Students' quarters for junior Archivists," she explained. "These are empty, though. This wing has been unused for years because there aren’t enough students to fill it. We can stop here; no one's likely to come this way."

The stranger nodded, finding himself a chair, still watching the guard. He didn't speak for a long moment, simply stared. Then he looked to Ren. “You want to find out what you can, be my guest,” he said simply. “Or you want me to be the one asking questions?”

The guard's head came up. "I'm not telling you anything, either of y..." His defiant words trailed off as he got his first clear look at the stranger. His eyes widened, and he stumbled back a step. " _Ava!_ "

“What now?” the stranger asked.

"You _are_ a Taint," said the guard, turning on Ren. He might have meant it to be accusatory, but it came out too panicky to carry the intended weight. "You keep your vile summoning away from me!"

"I'm not a Taint," said Ren, "and _he's_ not an ava. He's just... not from here."

The guard shook his head, steadily backing away. Ren knew his nerve was going to break an instant before it happened, but she was too slow to stop him as he made a dash for the exit.

The stranger blurred into motion in one fluid leap, tackling the guard and sending both of them to the floor. He sat on the man’s back. “No need for that kind of unpleasantness,” he said.

A strangled yell seemed to be about the best the guard could manage with the stranger's weight on his back, but if there was anyone around it would still be enough to get their attention, and he showed no inclination to stop. Ren quickly came over and put a hand on the man's throat. The gentle hum of energy built in her horns as she reached for the Essence, borrowing from the years of lingering quiet in the rooms around them and Weaving it together with notes of the guard's own voice. Her hand grew warm, and his yelling faded, then stopped altogether. His mouth still moved, and his eyes, already wide, bulged as he realized he couldn't make a sound.

Ren withdrew her hand and sat back on her heels, knowing she should feel guilty for abusing her magic, but mostly just feeling relieved that the room was quiet again.

The stranger stood, stepping off the man's back, and bodily lifted him, armor and all, into one of the chairs, despite being much shorter. “Running won't do you no good, you realize?” he said quietly.

The guard said something, but of course nothing came out. He tried to stand, putting both hands on the stranger's chest and attempting, unsuccessfully, to shove him away.

The stranger sighed, and pushed the man back into his chair, before taking the one across from it, and removing his mask. “My name's Glen Carviss. Human. What's your name and species?”

Ren blinked, realizing she hadn't even known his name until now. Then she stepped forward, holding up a hand. "Don't start screaming, alright? Just talk to us?" The guard stared at her, then at Glen. Finally, he nodded. He was, she noted, still only sitting on the edge of his chair, ready to leap up again. She gestured with both hands, unraveled her Weaving; the strands slid away, back into the flow of Essence.

She straightened and stepped back.

The guard kept his gaze fixed on Glen. "Forem," he said, finally. He relaxed slightly, apparently relieved to have his voice back. Then he added, a bit grudgingly, "Demeki. What kind of summoning is 'human'? I never heard of that one before." He crossed his arms over his chest, but his voice was uncertain, and his tail twitched behind him, agitated.

“Not magic, or a summoning,” Glen said. “Simply different kind of life.”

"He honestly isn't an ava," said Ren. "That isn't even what ava look like."

"You would know," said Forem, turning baleful eyes on her.

Ren bristled. She decided it might be better if she stayed out of the conversation.

“So, Forem, let's see if you can answer some questions. How many poor saps like you are there on this little isle?”

It was Forem's turn to look defensive. "If you mean guards... more than enough. The Castle Guard _will_ find you, and the Queen's Guard will have no trouble dealing with you and the Taint both. Magic or not."

Glen chuckled. “I’ve got about as much magic as a rock. But I need numbers, and if you won't give 'em, well…”

Forem shook his head, grim but stubborn. "I'm not helping you."

Glen sighed. “We'll leave that question a bit longer. How many kids are sick?”

The question took Forem by surprise. Some of the fight seemed to go out of him. "They... I don't know. The healers' wards are full. Overflowing. My daughter..." His voice caught, and he looked away.

Glen nodded. “Aye. That's what we're here to stop.”

Ren stepped forward. "What if I told you that the wasting sickness isn't an illness at all? That the Queen is using her Bond with the court to draw energy from us, and that's what's weakening the children, killing them?"

A moment of confusion showed in Forem's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by disbelief and anger. "I'd say you were lying," he said. "Or completely mad."

“And yet it's true, enough at least that the Queen wanted her dead,” Glen pointed out. He paused. “You want to ask him something? I’ve got what I need.” He stood, and stepped away from the chair. “And Forem?” he said, voice suddenly cold. “No matter the numbers in the guard? _It isn't enough._ More you tell _her_ , more of _your_ buddies live, in the end.”

Forem stared. His expression of skepticism slowly gave way to one of unwilling credulity. He turned to Ren as she took the empty chair. "What are you planning to _do_?" he asked.

Ren considered her answer. "Whatever we have to, to stop the drain on the court before any more children die or islands fall."

He looked deeply suspicious of this answer but, to Ren's relief, didn't push.

"You still haven't told us why it's so quiet," she said. "What happened to everyone?"

"The whole court's been ordered to stay in their quarters while the castle is searched."

Ah. Now it made sense. "Who's doing the searching? Just Castle Guard, or Queen's Guard too?"

"Both."

Glen’s head swiveled, staring at one of the rooms, hidden behind a green curtain, and he stalked towards it, drawing the broad knife quietly.

Ren looked up, alarmed. Forem started to say something, but she held up a hand and, somewhat surprisingly, he stopped.

Glen stepped up to the curtain, watching intently, then pulled it open swiftly.

A tall, lanky young man scrambled back from the doorway, ending up pressed against the far wall of the small sleeping room, an almost comically surprised look on his face. His gaze darted frantically around the room, and he snatched up a long-forgotten oil lamp from the bedside table, which he brandished in front of him. It was a poor weapon to begin with, and improved not at all for being blue ceramic, barely the size of his fist, and shaped like a swan.

Glen sighed heavily. “Get with the guard,” he said wearily.

The eavesdropper hesitated, eyeing Glen and the knife. He straightened slowly and put the bird lamp down, arranging it fussily on the little table. Then he stepped carefully past Glen into the main room. He managed to affect an air of unconcern, almost boredom, but his tail gave him away; it flicked nervously, the tuft on the end standing out as bushy as a frightened cat's.

Glen followed him until he sat down next to Forem, then sat back down. “Now, explain yourself.”

Ren eyed the young man, and frowned. "I know you," she said. "You're a message boy. Temne?"

He looked affronted. "I am a _courier_ ," he corrected her. “But yes.”

She shrugged. "That why you're eavesdropping on us?"

Temne smirked. "Indirectly, yes. As a _courier_ ," he stressed the word again, "I have the opportunity to move around the castle quite freely. Technically not right now," he admitted. "Which is why I hid when I heard you coming. But it's still a plausible excuse if anyone stops me."

“Excuse for what?”

"Gathering information, of course. Well, that and passing messages a bit less official than usual." He looked at their blank faces, and faltered. "For Verlel," he added. "The rebellion? Don't... don't you _know_?" He was staring at Ren now, looking confused and apprehensive.

Ren shook her head, rather confused herself. Verlel had said nothing of a rebellion...

“I should probably be knocking you unconscious so you won't be hearing this,” Glen said to Forem idly.

Forem stiffened.

"Too late for that," said Temne. "But it's not like we could let him go anyway."

This comment was clearly not to Forem's liking. "Please... I'll keep quiet, I swear."

“That's what a lot of people say, but secrets get out anyway,” Glen said. “Say, what’re the odds Queen will kill him after he tells her?” he asked.

"Quite high," said Temne. "And he'd hardly be the first. Anyone who knows anything she doesn't want them knowing? She has all sorts of ways to get rid of people like that."

“Huh. Looks like we're stuck with him.”  
“Don't I get a say in this?” Forem asked.  
“Not really,” Glen replied. “Either we let you go, you alert the Queen, and you, plus whoever she attacks, dies, or we take you, and nobody dies. Simple enough.”

Forem looked as though he was regretting several major life decisions.

“Of course, we could just slit your throat here and now, and simplify things greatly.”

"No!" said Forem quickly. "Take me with you. I won't give you trouble."

“Right. Turn around, hands behind your back.”

When Forem did so, Glen produced a long length of rope and proceeded to bind the guard’s hands together with a series of painful-looking knots.

He turned to Temne. “Now. Take us to your leader.”


	2. The rebels

He followed the Swan Lamp Courier [ _ Temne, bother to remember their names for once _ ] through the short and curved tunnels of the castle. Bloody big piece of architecture. Not as big as the Vatican, but considering  _ that _ was a small fortress-city whose stonework had held up to sustained orbital bombardment, the comparison didn't count.

Temne led them into the expansive library they had passed by earlier.

"We can't go through here!" Renma protested. "We'll be seen!"

 

"No we won't," said Temne. "There's nobody around."

 

"Except  _ the guards _ . And you, apparently."

 

He shook his head. "This area's already been searched. We don't have to worry about patrols until we're up in the main part of the castle."

 

He gave Temne a look. Seemed to be telling the truth. “Keep moving, then.”

 

The library was empty, as promised. No hint of movement among the shelves, no sound. They continued up a stairwell into a long, broad corridor, clearly a main passage, and from there up a broader flight of stairs. The next level was brighter, sunlight lancing in through windows set high in the walls; they'd reached ground level. Plenty of clear firing lines, which was an improvement. The prisoner staying quiet, another good thing. This day might be salvageable after all. He kept after them, watching their backs, Renma’s [ **the mission’s** ] especially.

 

Renma balked again as their guide led them past another staircase and started down a side passage.

 

"Shouldn't we go up from here?" she asked, little more than whispering. Her tail -- close to a lion’s, even if it evoked demonic imagery, especially in combination with the little horns peeking through her hair -- twitched constantly, as her eyes darted around the corridor. She'd been much less skittish belowground.  Even at the Crossroads, she'd been more sure of herself, and that had been her wandering into a multiuniversal bar by accident, to come across  _ him _ .

 

"No," said Temne. "Verlel's been moved. Your fault, by the way."

 

Renma frowned. "Why?"

 

"You went to Verlel at pretty much exactly the wrong time. Turns out there was a spy tailing her, and they heard everything and went to the Queen with it."

 

"I know," said Renma. "Verlel told me that when she warned me the guards were coming to arrest me. But what does that have to do with her being down here instead of her own rooms?"

 

Temne started to roll his eyes, caught the look on Glen's face, and stopped. "You might have been the one making 'wild accusations', but Verlel was the one  _ hearing _ them. And failing to report them. That put her under suspicion, too. Not enough to be charged with treason like you, but enough that the Queen ordered Verlel moved down here, and put her under house arrest until you could be found and everything could be... straightened out."

 

Wonderful. The Queen's paranoia was actually accurate. That meant guards. “How many watching her?” he asked Swa--  _ Temne. _

 

"Four or six, I'm not entirely sure which. They change shifts in pairs, not all together, so it's hard to tell."

 

He nodded, reaching for kukri and stiletto. “Nothing I can't handle,” he said. “Renma, keep the two of them quiet. All of you, cover your ears.” He hooked his fingers over one of his few remaining flashbangs- thank God these things were reusable- and kept moving, carrying it and the stiletto loosely in his left hand.

 

Temne slowed a they approached a narrow archway with a carved wooden privacy wall behind it. He gestured, indicating that this was the place, but held up a hand and pointed to a circle of runes or glyphs painted on the wall beside the archway. “A Working,” he told Glen quietly. "Generates a barrier across the entry." He turned to Renma. "I don't know the release word. Can you disrupt it?"

 

“I think so.” Remna rested her fingertips lightly on the symbols, and her eyes turned oddly unfocused, as if she were looking through the marks instead of at them. After a moment, the paint flaked and faded. She stepped back.

 

Temne was watching her with a wary expression, and the prisoner had gone stiff again, tail lashing, though at least he kept quiet.

 

"What was  _ that _ ?" whispered Temne.

 

"I'm not that good at mancer magic; I couldn't read enough of it to write a counter-Working," said Renma. "So I just cut off the flow of Essence powering it instead." She looked back and forth between Temne and the prisoner, and folded her arms, frowning. "I'm a  _ Weaver _ ," she said, defensive.

 

“Rare magic, I’m guessing,” he said quietly, part of him trying to protect the  **mission** , another simply fishing for information, another long-buried part disliking their suspicion. “Way is clear?”

 

"Only rare around here," said Renma, giving the other two a pointed look. "But yes, it's clear now."

 

“Good. Ears, eyes, cover them if you don't want to lose them,” he said, strapping on his mask. He pulled the pin on the flashbang, and tossed it over the privacy wall. His mask muffled the worst of it automatically, but he still felt the shockwave, and the thud as someone hit the wall. He tightened his grip on his knives, stepped into the room, and went to work. The fight was unremarkable, and short. Bloody, though.

 

A woman stepped into the doorway of an adjoining room. Her dark hair was swept back in a knot, making her horns, already longer than most he'd seen so far, more prominent. She looked at him with hard, wary eyes, her left hand hidden in the folds of her skirt.  Concealing a weapon? Smart. 

 

“You Verlel?” he asked, stepping clear of the blood.

 

She eyed the dead guards at his feet, then turned a carefully neutral expression on him. "I am," she said slowly. "Who are you?"

 

“Glen. Your escape opportunity.”

 

She stayed where she was. "Since I don't know you, I can safely assume your arrival was orchestrated by someone else. Might I ask who I have to thank for this... opportunity?"

 

"Verlel?" Renma's voice preceded her cautious entrance into the room. As she stepped into view, Verlel's eyes widened. Shock, quickly replaced by confusion.

 

"Ren? What are you doing here?" Her tone was hard, almost angry. Renma looked hurt, and Verlel's expression softened. "It isn't safe... Why didn't you run?"

 

"Not safe for you, either, apparently," Renma pointed out. She glanced down and saw the bodies and the spreading pool of blood, and went a little pale. But then she continued, looking back at Verlel again. "And I did run. But when I got to Crossroads Inn, I found help, and came back to try to put things right."

 

Verlel blinked, then smiled. "Well done," she said warmly. Then the smile faded. "But I don't know that things can  _ be _ put right at this point. Even with..." she glanced at Glen, appraising, "...help." Her left hand moved slightly, and Glen caught a brief glint of steel as whatever she’d been hiding quietly vanished into a pocket.

 

“Any problem can be solved with sufficient brute force,” he replied, smiling under his mask. “And I’ve won in worse situations than this.”

 

"Hmm." Verlel looked less than convinced. But she nodded. "Well, glad to have you. We need all the help we can get."

 

“I figured that much.”

He turned to Sw- [ _ TEMNE _ ] and the prisoner, who had followed Renma in. “Assuming we have a way out?”

 

Temne turned to Verlel. "The warren?" he asked.

 

Verlel nodded.

 

"There might be patrols between here and there," said Temne. "But most should be up in the towers by now. I think we can slip through."

 

“Lead the way then, ma’am,” he said, nodding to Verlel.

 

"Call a meeting," Verlel told Temne. "Only the leads; I don't want to risk attracting attention with too many people moving about."

 

Temne nodded smartly, then hurried out of the room, stepping carefully around the dead guards.

 

Verlel knelt beside one of the guards and fished through his pockets, apparently unbothered by searching a corpse. She came up with a little key, which she used to open a chest just inside the door. From this she produced a number of small objects. A decorative hair comb carved from what looked like bone, a palm-sized mirror in a silver casing, a slender book, a handful of small, colored stones, and a heavy necklace. The necklace in particular garnered attention; each bead was made of a different material, and carved with runes like the ones on the wall outside. She put it on and tucked it out of sight beneath the collar of her blouse, while the other objects were quickly secreted about her person.  Glen knew enough about all sorts of magic that the objects were obvious. Whether actually enchanted, or merely focuses, he did not know, but they could be dangerous.

 

With a full-fledged rebellion...it had been a long while [ **too long** ] since he’d been part of an insurgency.

 

Verlel stood, glanced once around the room, then led them out into the hall. Renma went after her, and the prisoner followed without having to be told, though he gave the bodies of the guards a lingering look.

 

Though still sharp-eyed and watchful, Verlel seemed confident as she guided them through the castle. She was cautious, but quite calm, almost unconcerned, and gave no hint that it was a front. Unlike the prisoner, so defeated that even his tail hung low, or Renma, who was still overtly nervous.

Interesting. He could see why people followed her.

 

They moved quickly through the main floor, until the sudden sound of marching feet forced them to duck into an empty room. The prisoner turned shifty, perhaps entertaining thoughts of alerting the approaching patrol to their presence. Glen stared him down, and he kept silent. After several tense moments, the patrol passed them by, and quiet descended again.

 

Shortly after that, Verlel took them back down into the underground levels. Renma relaxed, just a little, only to tense up again as they left the developed, inhabited areas behind for another set of tunnels, unlit and rough-walled.

 

Renma again donned the night-vision goggles he'd given her, as they left the light behind. Verlel forged a considerable distance into the darkness before she stopped and put a hand to the necklace, fingers twisting one of the beads as she spoke a single word in a language he didn't recognize. A faint glow, lacking a specific source, brightened the area around her.  Joy. Magic.

 

“I’m guessing there's more than a light hidden by there,” he said.

 

"I like to keep certain Workings close to hand," said Verlel, touching the necklace again. "These are just my personal spells. You'll see others as we go through here, anchored by place rather than object." She gave both Glen and Renma a warning look. "I don't suggest coming this way alone until you know where the triggers are and how to get past them." She spared a glance at the prisoner. "And  _ you _ won't be getting that information," she told him flatly, “so if you planned to sneak out, don't.”

 

The prisoner gave her a sullen look, but said nothing.

 

Hmm. He hoped they had cells set up. The prisoner might not remain cowed for long.

 

The tunnel system proved much like the one that he and Renma had arrived in. It was equally tangled and of questionable purpose. He wondered why it had been carved out to begin with; whoever built the castle above would certainly not have  _ intended _ to provide a hideout for insurgents. Must have been added later.

 

Verlel navigated the maze unerringly, pausing in several places along the way to speak brief words or phrases under her breath, always in that other language. He noticed markings on the walls in those spots, but Verlel did not look at or otherwise acknowledge them, and in the dim light he suspected the prisoner couldn't even see them. Renma seemed to notice them, too, and sometimes even to know they were coming before they even came into view, probably thanks to that other sense she had.

At last they reached what could only be the warren. 

The name was apt. The ceiling was low, the room itself wide and round. Couches and chairs, tables, all scavenged by the looks of things, were scattered throughout the room. Innumerable tunnel entrances- still no bloody doors, apparently- were visible around the roughly circular chamber.

 

It was lit by more of the glowing rocks from the levels above, and also by a fireplace housing a blatantly unnatural fire with no smoke rising from it and no fuel to feed it.

 

Renma paused a few steps into the room, looking around in surprise. The prisoner stopped too, but that was because Verlel had put a hand up, halting him in a his tracks. Turning to Glen and Renma, she indicated a table to one side. "Sit down, get comfortable. I'll be right back."

 

Then she took the prisoner by the arm and led him away down one of the many passages.

 

Glen shrugged, then did as Verlel had requested, putting his boots up on the table as he took off his mask.

 

Renma sat down, too, putting her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. She looked over at Glen.

 

He looked back. “Something on your mind, say it.”

 

"I didn't even know there  _ was _ a rebellion," she said quietly. "Or that this place was here. Nobody told me. Guess they didn’t trust me."

 

“Seems to be a theme,” he said, swinging his rifle off his back and into his lap so he could lean into the chair properly. “No fault of your own, I figure.”

 

"Why, though? Ever since I came to Greenstone, I've only ever tried to help."

 

“You're an  _ unknown _ . A Weaver in a court of--mancers, was it?-- is different to them. They can't fit you into what they think, they’ll settle for making sure you're out of the way where you can't harm things. Happened to me enough times. Interservice rivalries are a hell of a thing.”

 

She nodded. "I guess I can understand that. Sort of." She looked curiously at him. "What's ‘interservice’?"

 

Right. Medieval culture. Figured they hadn't gotten that far militarily. “You've got your normal guards, and the Queen's Guard, right?”

 

“Right…”

 

“They ever get competitive? Fight over pride of place?”

 

"Yeah, I’ve heard there's some rivalry between the two."

 

“That's the same basic thing, writ large for us.”

 

Renma tipped her head. "Who's 'us'? And how large do you mean? Greenstone isn’t all that large of a court, compared to some, but still..."

 

“The allied militaries I am, well, was, a part of. Army, Navy, Marines, four separate governments with their soldiers divided up in those three branches. Don't know the numbers off the top of my head--”  _ [yes you do, here] _ “--but total? About four billion people.”

 

"Four...  _ billion _ ?" Renma’s eyes were huge. She shook her head. "I can't even imagine..."

 

“Out of a population millions of times larger than that, too,” he said, enjoying the dawning expression on her face.

 

"Millions of times larger..." she repeated, sounding dazed.

 

“That's what happens when you have more than one world to live on. Go forth and multiply, as the good book says.” He chuckled.

 

"If that was your goal, I think you succeeded a long time ago," she said, still dazzled. "But... how do you live on more than one world?"

 

How to explain this a way she would understand? “We’ve been around a long while, and didn't have magic to help us. So we built, and tinkered, until we could make things that make most magic look puny. None of the limitations of magic, you see. From there….well, there were thousands of worlds fit to live on, if you knew where to look, under faraway stars.”

 

"Worlds fit to live on..." She was quiet for a long moment, digesting that. Then she looked back at him. "So the things you make, like your weapons... there's no magic in them at all? I couldn't see any, but I thought it was just a different kind, something I couldn't Sense." She frowned. "That thing you tossed into Verlel's suite, the one that was so loud... that was... what? How do these things you 'build and tinker with' work?"

 

Best deal with these in order. “Not a speck. Now, magic’s still used, like with my vest, but not often. The thing I tossed in was a flashbang, a way to deafen and blind people without killing them outright. And as for all the things….can’t say. It’d be like asking one of your blindhorns to explain the inner workings of magic. Technology if you need a name to call it by, tech for short.”

 

“Oh.” She nodded slowly. "So 'technology' can do things magic can, and some things magic can't. But... it isn't magic." It was clear from her expression that this didn't quite add up for her. But just as she started to say more, Verlel returned.

 

Renma looked up. She hesitated, then asked, "Where did you take him?" Ah, meaning the prisoner. Right.

 

"To a guest room," said Verlel. "One with a Working on it so he can't leave, but comfortable enough even so."

 

Verlel joined them. If she cared that Glen had his boots on the table, she gave no hint of it. "Now, I'm going to guess that there are questions. We have some time to fill before others start to arrive, so if you're going to ask them, this is as good a chance as any." She looked to Renma, then to Glen.

 

Glen shrugged. “Plenty. Guard numbers, patrol routes, their equipment, if Castle and Queen’s are different in that regard. Your own numbers and resources. Also, I’d like a few tomes on your history and mythology, if you’ve got them. Specifically, what’s an ava?”

 

"I can answer that last, at least," said Renma. "An ava is a malevolent spirit. They happen when someone dies and their soul fails to reach the afterlife. Over time they forget who they were and go mad, becoming an ava. I have no idea why Forem thought  _ you _ were one, though, when he knew perfectly well you were flesh and blood."

 

"Because 'ava' has a different definition here," said Verlel. "In our stories, an ava is a kind of daemon, one that can be summoned and controlled through dark rites. Supposedly they can be recognized because their physical forms are always incomplete. They might be missing an eye or an ear, have the wrong number of fingers, or have no horns, or no tail." She looked pointedly at Glen. "Essentially any trait that should be there and isn't is supposed to be a sign that you're dealing with an ava. You're lucky the same belief isn't prevalent wherever you're from; I've seen hatchlings killed because they came out of the shell with deformities like yours."

 

" _ What? _ " said Renma, outraged. "You would kill your own  _ babies _ ?"

 

"Not in this court," said Verlel. "But some of them take the old superstitions  _ very _ seriously."

 

Well. Best to clear things. [ **Though it would be fun to let them think** ] [ _ no _ ] _. _

“Wait, hatchlings? You lay eggs?” he asked.

 

Both of them gave him a strange look.

 

"Humans don't?" asked Renma.

 

Verlel raised an eyebrow. "Humans?"

 

“My species,” Glen said. “But no. We give birth to live young. Most mammals do.”

 

"Not here, they don't." Renma looked both curious and mildly alarmed.

 

Verlel was looking at Glen with uncertainty. "Your species... comes from a world beyond the void?" she asked.

 

"I told you I met him at Crossroads," said Renma.

 

Verlel's expression cleared. "Ah. So you did. I have not encountered... 'humans' before, but I should have realized." She turned back to Glen. "I'll have texts brought to you on our history and culture, and -- since you aren't familiar with it -- our world in general. As to the rest, I can give you that myself."

 

She proceeded to give him a succinct but thorough rundown on the state of affairs.

 

The rebellion had been ongoing for several years, but it's numbers were down thanks to aggressive, and successful, hunting of rebels and suspected rebels by the queen's forces, following a failed assassination attempt about a year before. They had roughly two hundred men and women in and around the court still actively supporting the cause, and too few of them fighters.

 

Against this dismal number: about four thousand Castle Guard and five hundred Queen's Guard, the latter being entirely comprised of highly skilled magic users.

 

Weapons on both sides were medieval: swords, spears, crossbows, occasionally longbows. Armor, too, was no more advanced than metal plating, chainmail, and boiled leather, in various combinations. Only the magic provided anything more promising, and unfortunately that was almost all on the queen's side. Apparently there were rules about it, prohibiting magic users -- mancers -- from studying any kind of offensive spells unless they were part of, or training to be part of, the Queen's Guard. As a result the rebels, who had very few mancers to begin with, had almost no one trained to the rigorous standards of the Queen's Guard.

 

Supplies, they had; weapons, food, and other goods, all squirreled away down here in these tunnels. 

 

He nodded along, then paused. “How far do these tunnels extend? Out of the castle?”

 

Verlel nodded. "Most of them lead, eventually, to the old mineheads on the other side of the island. This used to be a mining operation: a lot of Greenstone's early wealth came from copper mining, hence the court’s name. But the last veins ran out decades ago, and the tunnels were abandoned. They didn't originally connect with the Underhalls at all, at least not on the official maps. But someone linked the two at some point, much to our benefit."

 

He grinned. An isolated location. That made things much easier. “Given what you have on hand, I think I can arm you with weapons that’ll make up for your numbers. Making them might be difficult, but if we can get magic to do the work…”

 

"What weapons could make up for such a gap? 'Outnumbered' isn't a strong enough word for our situation.”

 

“One easily used with perhaps a week of training, that will fire a bullet that can puncture plate at a thousand yards,” he said.

 

"That would be effective indeed," said Verlel, clearly interested. "And you know how to produce such weapons?"

 

“Roughly. Know how to make the important bits, but mass manufacturing is going to be a pain, and that's what you need. That, and finding the materials.”

 

"Still, it changes things. Can you make a list of the tools and materials required? For something like that, if we don't have them, we'll find a way to get them. It could mean the difference between another deadly failure and finally putting an end to all this."

 

"Putting an end to it?" said a new voice, as another Demeki entered the room. He was well-armed, if somewhat older, judging by the grey at his temples. Though slim and aristocratic, complete with greying goatee, he was also clearly a soldier. The best kind, too; old enough to know everything he needed to, yet young enough not to have lost his edge. "That's a tall order. I'll be eager to hear what we have on the table that's got even you optimistic enough for ideas like that."

“You’ll enjoy it,” Glen said, standing. “Should probably take a look at what you have on hand, though. I’ll have the list by the end of the day.” He didn't want to deal too much with their inner circle.  **[Mission]** was to deal with the Queen, nothing more.

The newcomer looked at Glen, then looked again, one eyebrow arching sharply. "And who is this?"

"His name is Glen," said Verlel. "He's here to help us, and he has some very interesting ideas. It's one of several things I want to discuss once the others get here. But for now," she turned to Glen. "Do what you need to. Go anywhere in the warren, but don’t leave it, or you’ll trigger the wards. If you need anything, come find me. And if anyone gives you trouble, tell them you're here on my orders."

  
Glen nodded, and started walking. Work to be done.


	3. Glen makes a friend

"If you want it, just  _ say _ so," said Tabbit, grinning.

 

Daka scowled and tried again to snatch his ball out of the bigger boy's hand. Tabbit yanked it away at the last moment.

 

"Come on," Tabbit jeered, "How am I supposed to know what you want if you don't  _ tell me _ ?"

 

He tossed the ball to Kedta. Kedta held it out. "Oh fine. C'mere, I'll let you have it."

 

But when Daka went over to him, he laughed and threw it back to Tabbit. As Daka's head turned to follow it, Kedta shoved him, hard. He lost his footing and went down, scraping his knee and the palm of one hand on the rough stone floor.

 

"Told you I'd let you have it!" Kedta crowed.

 

Both boys laughed as Daka slowly sat up, gingerly wiping the grit from his stinging hand and knee. He bit his tongue, not to hold back words -- he didn't have any words, he  _ never _ had any words -- but to stem his anger. If he hit them back,  _ they _ would tell on  _ him _ , and he'd take the blame because he wouldn't be able to explain himself.

 

It wouldn't be the first time.

 

"Now what?" asked Tabbit, smug. "You gonna  _ tell _ on us? Run back and  _ say something _ to whatever poor sap's been saddled with you this month?"

 

“You know, we don't much like bullies where I’m from,” a voice said from behind him.

 

Daka felt a sharp satisfaction at the way Tabbit and Kedta jumped, shock and guilt evident on their faces. He looked around to see who it was that had caught them out.

 

A man in a long coat stood watching them, and the look of quiet fury on his face was even more satisfying than his voice, which brought to mind blizzards and ice storms. “Give him back his ball.”

 

Tabbit stood frozen for a moment, mouth slightly open, then scrambled to offer Daka his ball back. Daka took it, giving Tabbit a hard look as he did. Tabbit didn't notice, his attention fixed firmly on the man.

 

"It... it was just a game," said Kedta, using his most innocent voice and face. "We didn't mean anything by it."

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Kedta's 'I didn't do anything, why are you mad at me?' face faltered, replaced by genuine uncertainty. He clearly didn't know how to respond. Tabbit did; he was backing away.

 

Daka looked back at the man again, and could see why. It wasn't just that he was an angry adult. He looked  _ scary _ . His face was weathered and hard, his eyes steely. He loomed over them, seeming much larger than even an adult should be. And, Daka realized suddenly, he had no horns, and no tail. Dake refocused his eyes, only to find that the man had no presence in the not-seen. No colors, no motion, no hint of energy at all. Daka had never, ever seen anyone like that.

 

He, too, began to feel afraid.

 

“Get going. And if I see you bullying another child again, I’ll tan your hide till the skin comes off. Are we clear?”

 

Tabbit didn't answer; he  _ ran _ . Kedta stayed just long enough to manage a, "Yes, sir," before following.

 

Which left Daka alone with his strange defender. He looked up uncertainly.

 

The stranger looked back, the fury draining quickly. “You alright?” His voice was softer, warmer.

 

Daka nodded. To prove it, he got carefully to his feet, trying not to favor his scraped knee even though he could feel a warm trickle of blood crawling slowly down his leg. It was less than he'd come away with in similar encounters. He should thank the man.

 

He couldn't.

 

Instead he held up the ball and smiled, trying to at least show that he was grateful, even if he couldn't say it.

 

“You aren't,” the stranger said, nodding to his knee. He got down on his own knees, pulling a slim case from under his coat. “Hold still and let me fix that up. This happen often?”

 

Daka shrugged, not meeting the stranger's eyes. He watched him open the case and rifle quickly through it; almost nothing in there was anything Daka could identify. What was the stranger doing? Despite misgivings, he stayed still, as instructed.

 

The stranger retrieved a smooth cylinder and a small, stiff white sheet. He moved closer to Daka, and removed a cap from one end of the cylinder. Pressing down, a fine mist came from it, spraying on Daka’s knee. The pain vanished.

 

The stranger peeled the sheet apart, revealing a beige cloth, with one side mostly what looked like cotton. He placed this on Daka's knee, and it stuck in place as he patted the edges down. “Alright, that's done,” he said, sitting back.

 

Surprised, Daka poked lightly at the odd bandage. His knee didn't hurt at all. This was much better than anything the healers had ever done for him. He looked at the man, offering another small smile in thanks.

 

The man smiled back, leaning against the tunnel wall. “You can't speak. Can you write?”

 

The stranger had caught on fast; Daka hadn't spoken in a long time. He wanted to. He really did. He just... couldn't.

 

Couldn't write, either, even though he knew  _ how _ to write. But the words were never there when he needed them.

 

He hung his head, staring at the floor. His tail tucked itself between his knees, and he put his hands in his pockets, wishing he could somehow make the question go away.

 

“Either can't or won't, got it,” the stranger said. “Nobody's taking care of you?”

 

Another shrug. At the moment, Ebarro was supposed to be looking after him. But he'd slipped away, because he didn't like her much. That was just as well. Getting attached to his caretakers only made it hurt worse when they passed him off to someone else. Again.

 

The stranger frowned. “Well, that ain't right at all.” He paused. “What do I call you? Can't ask you, nobody watching you to tell me.” He shrugged. “Got to call you something, though. You mind?”

 

Daka thought about it. He found he liked the idea of being called something else. Da had never called him by his real name, either, always saying 'kiddo' or 'son' instead. But after-- But now it was all anyone ever used. It made him feel lonely.

 

And sometimes, well sometimes he didn't want to  _ be _ Daka. Sometimes he really wished he could be almost anyone else.

 

Someone was bound to tell the stranger who he was sooner or later, but until then... why not? He looked up and shook his head. He didn't mind at all.

 

The stranger paused. “Didn't expect that,” he said with a grin. “Alright. How about David?”

 

Daka shook his head. Too close.

 

“Isaac?”

 

He shook his head again.

 

“Adam.”

 

No. Same with Arebel, Abraham, Gabriel, Michael, and several others. This was starting to seem like a bad idea.

“Cassiel?” the stranger finally ventured.

 

Daka paused. He liked the sound of that. He repeated the name in his head a few times, and felt a smile growing.

 

_ Cassiel. _ He liked that.

 

He looked at the stranger and nodded. Then pointed to himself, nodding faster.

 

The stranger smiled, extending a hand. “Well, Cassiel, I’m Glen.”

 

_ Cassiel, _ he thought, _ I'm Cassiel now. To one person, at least. _ He shook the offered hand, and didn't care that it was rough and callused. He smiled, wider than he could remember doing in a long time.

 

Glen chuckled. “You seem like a smart kid. You know how to play chess?”

 

Cassiel didn't even know what 'chess' was, much less how to play it. He shook his head.

 

“Perfect time to learn, then,” Glen said, producing an odd, flat object from under his coat. He tapped on it a few times, then set it down. It displayed a large square divided into many smaller squares in alternating black and white. Game pieces, red on one side of the tablet, blue on the other, spontaneously appeared.

 

He knelt down -- still no pain in his knee -- in front of them, leaning in for a closer look. The red set and the blue set mirrored each other exactly, but within each set the pieces came in several different shapes. The tower of a castle, a pair of pieces with little crowns on top, some kind of animal (though only the head), and several others. He looked up at Glen questioningly.

 

“It's a strategy game. You try to-- here, just read the rules.” A wave of his hand, and a tiny book, outlined in lines of light, appeared next to the pieces.

 

Cassiel reached out, hesitantly, to touch the book. His fingers passed right through it, yet it responded to his touch anyway, turning itself to the first page. Cassiel's eyebrows rose. Glen didn't just have the healers beat; he outdid the mancers, too. His magic was amazing.

 

He leaned over the little book and began to read. It seemed confusing at first, but gradually began to make more sense, especially when he got to the illustrations. The pictures even  _ moved _ , showing him exactly what he was supposed to do.

 

Tentatively, he tried it, touching one of the pieces, a 'pawn', and moving it forward to the next square. He couldn't feel the piece but, like the book, it responded to him anyway. He moved the piece with the funny hat, the 'bishop', diagonally into the spot the pawn had left. He tried out the other pieces, trying his best to remember how each one was supposed to move. Glen corrected him a few times, but he was good about it, not picky or sappy like adults could be sometimes, and never impatient.

 

“Think you have the hang of it?” Glen asked.

 

Pretty sure that he did, Cassiel nodded.

 

“Let's play, then,” he said, moving one of his pawns forward two spaces.

 

Cassiel paused. Didn't pawns move one space at a time? But no, he remembered that the book had mentioned this. They could move two the first time.

 

He moved one of his own pawns forward.

 

Glen countered with a knight.

From there, the game moved quickly.

 

Glen played fast, and moved his pieces far across the board. A lot of times, Cassiel wasn't sure why Glen made the moves he did, whereas Cassiel's own moves always had clear reasons behind them. Somehow, though, Glen captured one after another of Cassiel's pieces anyway, and before he knew quite how it had happened, Glen cornered Cassiel's king and announced a 'checkmate', which signaled that the game was over and Glen had won.    
  
Cassiel looked at his trapped king, and at the pieces he'd lost, and the scant handful of Glen's pieces he had captured.    
  
He grinned.    
  
That had been  _ fun _ .

 

“Another game?” Glen asked.

 

Cassiel gave him an enthusiastic nod. Glen waved a hand across the board, and all of the pieces returned themselves to their starting places.

 

Before they could play, though, they were interrupted.

 

"Glen?" a woman's voice called, from somewhere down the tunnel. "Glen? Hello? Is  _ anyone _ down here?" More quietly, but still audible thanks to the way sound carried in the some of the tunnels, "This place is a  _ maze _ . I am never finding my way out of here."

 

“Down here,” Glen shouted. “What's the rush?”

 

The owner of the voice came into view. "There you are! Didn't think I was going to find you." It was another stranger. Odd. There hadn't been any new faces in the warren for ages, and now there were two in one day.

 

She headed toward them. "Verlel started the meeting, and she wants you to tell them-- oh, hello." She spotted Cassiel and smiled. He gave her only a blank stare in return. Maybe she would realize she was  _ interrupting _ and go away, so he and Glen could play some more chess.

 

Her smile faded into uncertainty, but she didn't go away.

 

Glen, however, nodded, and stood. “Give me a moment,” he said, taking out a second tablet and tapping on it. He handed it to Cassiel. “That should do it. Books, a few education programs, and yes, chess,” he said with a slight smile, picking up the original tablet. “Want to follow along? Got a meeting, but figure you can stay outside for the time it’ll take.”

 

Cassiel looked at him in surprise. He could come? No one ever let him come, not since-- Anyway,  _ of course _ he wanted to. He nodded, clutching the tablet to his chest.

 

He glanced at the woman, who was watching Glen with an odd look on her face. Cassiel didn't care. For once, he wasn't being left behind, and that was almost as good as more chess.

  
He smiled.


	4. I think we broke Ren

Ren could not wrap her head around the sudden change in Glen. Strange enough that, when she finally tracked him down in the tunnels, she found him in the company of a little boy. But to see the way he behaved around the child... he almost didn't seem like the same person. His voice was different, his posture had changed, his whole countenance had softened.

 

As they made their way through the tunnels -- Glen leading, because Ren could not for the life of her remember the way back -- she watched them with something close to astonishment.

 

The boy never said a single word, but his silence wasn't fearful. Quite the opposite, he followed Glen like a shadow, obviously pleased to have his attention. And Glen gave him that attention, quite clearly keeping track of him as they traveled, never failing to notice if the boy hesitated or fell behind or even simply looked up at Glen with a question in his eyes. He talked to the boy, too. He was hardly verbose -- that was something she doubted Glen would ever be described as -- but he was relaxed, even friendly. And it was the closest he'd come to casual conversation since she'd met him.

 

_ This _ was the same man who killed five guards before she could blink? Who asked about numbers and training and minds but never about people, and talked about mass-producing weapons that could kill armored men from a thousand yards away?

 

It boggled the mind.

 

When they reached the main room, Glen settled the boy in the passage outside, encouraging him to entertain himself with what Glen called a 'tablet'. The boy seemed reluctant to stay there, but he nodded and sat down against the wall. Ren wondered where he'd come from, and what in allgods' names he was doing down in the warren, alone. Questions for later, though; she could hear Verlel talking to the gathered rebels, and recognized the subtle impatience in her voice. She wasn't happy that Glen hadn't returned yet.

 

Glen straightened and headed for the entrance. As he did, the hard gaze and stiff shoulders returned, and he was once again the soldier who had come to put paid to a corrupt monarch.

 

Verlel looked over as Glen and Ren came in.

 

"Ah, here he is now. Glen, I've been telling everyone about your plans to produce better weapons. So tell us: do we have what we need?"

 

Glen paused. “Mostly, yes. You're more short on sulfur and brass than I’d like, but there should be enough.” He pulled out a thick sheaf of papers from under his coat. “Here's the recipe for the gunpowder, and the best schematics I could make of the weapons and their ammunition.” He placed them in front of Verlel, before taking a seat. “You’ll have to hand-make a lot of the parts of the weapons, but the ammunition itself should be easy enough. I hope you have some good smiths.”

 

Ren sat down as well, while Verlel looked over the papers and then passed them to a man dressed in Archivist's yellow. "Make copies," Verlel told him. Then she addressed another man. "Talis, can you use the forge in the village without raising suspicion?"

 

"Not really," said Talis, "But I have someone I can send. He does good work. However fine the parts, he can make them."

 

"Good. Better we work there than here in the castle. Have your man make parts for two of these, to start with, and we'll see if we can't get them working. Where is Temne-- Oh, just get in here, I know you're there."

 

Temne stepped in from one of the passages, chin up as if he'd just received a royal summons rather than been caught eavesdropping again. "Take a message to Fidra," said Verlel. "Tell him we need someone good with alchemy, to make the... gunpowder, it's called?"

 

The Archivist checked one of the pages she'd given him, and nodded.

 

“Make sure not to let sparks near it,” Glen said. “I would prefer the place you’re using to make it remain unexploded.”

 

Ren looked at Glen in alarm. She wasn't the only one.

 

"Mention that, too," Verlel told Temne calmly. He nodded, and left again.

 

The first man that had arrived for the meeting, the guardsman -- Verlel had introduced him as Cor -- spoke up. "So, we begin by finding out if we can really build these weapons, and then we tackle the issue of building _ enough _ of them. What then? Arming ourselves with better weapons is an advantage, but it isn't a plan. What will we do with them once we have them?"

 

"There will be time to figure that out," said one of the others. "We have to prepare carefully before we act, to make the most of our chances. In a few months, when we--"

 

"We don't have that long!" Ren burst out.

 

The group turned to her, several with surprised or even admonishing expressions.

 

"Why not?" asked Cor.

 

“Queenie isn't only a tyrant. She's a vampire,” Glen said, leaning back in his chair.

 

"A what?" said that Archivist.

 

Verlel nodded to Ren. "Go ahead."

 

Ren swallowed, and curled her tail around the leg of her chair so it couldn't flick around and let them all know how nervous she felt.

 

"The queen... The wasting sickness isn't a sickness. The children are weak and dying because their Essence -- their energy -- is being drained away. It's happening to all of us, but adults have resistance; our energy is slower, and we hold on to it more. Children don't, especially blindhorn children, which is why theirs is being pulled away faster than they can tolerate."

 

A hushed babble broke out around the room, as people exchanged sharp comments and urgent questions. "--explains why the healers can't--" "--at would cause--" "--that's not what--" "But how--"

 

Cor made himself heard over the others. "What does this have to do with the queen?"

 

"She's the one  _ causing _ it," said Ren. This was met with shocked looks. Apparently even people already rebelling had never guessed how far their queen, however bad a ruler, would truly go. "She's using her connection to the court, using the Bond, to siphon energy off of us. I... I guess she just doesn't care about the cost."

 

"Corrupting the Bond?" said the Archivist. "Even Temor wouldn't do that." He shook his head. "It... is it even possible?"

 

Farasee, the mancer in the group, a woman Ren knew from her time studying with the mancers, frowned. "In theory, yes. But it would require complex and powerful magic to do. There are no signs of such that I've seen."

 

"I've seen it," Ren insisted. "I can see it in the Essence. I didn't notice at first. But when I met one of the affected children, it couldn't have been more obvious. Once I knew what to look for, I could see it on all of us, just not as strong."

 

Farasee's frown deepened. Before she could argue, Ren went on. "I-- I'm a Weaver. It's different than being a mancer. I can see things you can't. I can  _ see _ magic. My people call it the Sense."

 

"Even if that's true -- and although I've heard of such claims, I'm not inclined to believe it is -- I find it odd that you have never mentioned this ability before now," said Farasee.

 

Ren felt herself reddening. "Verlel told me not to," she said quietly.

 

Verlel nodded. "I did. I did not know Renma's abilities would turn out to be so important, and counselled her to keep them to herself and study the mancer's arts instead."

 

“Vampire or no, plasma will still kill her,” Glen said.

 

“Plasma?” Cor asked.

 

Glen grinned. “For all intents and purposes, it's like firing bits of the sun at her.” He tapped the weapon on his back. “Powerful though she might be, all I need is a clear shot at her. It'll fall to you lot to handle the guards after, though.”

 

Back up.  _ Bits of the sun?!  _

 

Cor seemed to share Ren's reaction. "The  _ sun _ ? You're saying..." He paused, apparently not able to wrap his head around it. "I've never heard of  _ anyone _ throwing that kind of power around, save for the gods themselves." 

 

“Eh, it's nothing special. Just a standard-issue anti-materiel rifle, though I’ve made a few small modifications over the years,” Glen said. “There's millions just like it.”

 

To go with the millions -- no, billions -- of soldiers his people had, Ren realized. She could only imagine what his world must be like. It sounded frightful, honestly.

 

"Ashashee preserve us," said Farasee softly. She, and just about everyone in the room, wore a look of complete astonishment. Verlel looked outright alarmed.

 

"I hate to be the one to point this out, but, sunfire weapon or no, a clear shot at the queen is not exactly easy to come by," said Araxis, one of the castle masons, into the silence. "After the last attempt on her life, she's hardly ever seen. She gives decrees by sending announcers to read them throughout the castle, never attends holy days or social gatherings, and only takes audiences with her councillors and a handful of others, communicating with everyone else strictly by messenger. The last time she even left the royal tower -- which is gated and guarded throughout -- was to see the execution of the man that tried to assassinate her." He shrugged. "Guess she was paranoid enough that she wanted to see  _ that _ for herself. But that was a year ago. She's been diligent ever since."

 

“Can cut my way through the tower, if need be,” Glen said. “Would prefer not to, though. Any thought on how to draw her out?”

 

Ren noticed Verlel looking at her speculatively. It was not a friendly look.

 

"Possibly," said Verlel. She paused, glancing around at the group. "If the queen came out for the execution of one 'traitor', perhaps she would do the same for another."

 

"She hasn't," said Cor. "And she's taken enough of us."

 

"True. But none of them posed quite as pointed of a threat as Renma here, did they? Temor knows what Ren has found out; I think she'd be eager to make absolutely sure that information couldn't spread. Eager enough to act quickly... and to be there to witness it personally."

 

Ren went completely still, staring at Verlel. Was she really suggesting... ?

 

“Tell me,” Glen asked. “Do you have any legends of the undead? Because I’d very much like to have a plan that doesn't involve throwing the person who brought me here to the metaphorical wolves.”

 

"I also would like a different plan," Ren agreed.

 

"I don't see how it helps, but yes, we have stories of unquiet corpses and lingering spirits," said the Archivist. He was a useful fellow, that Archivist.

 

Ren looked at Glen, eager to know what his idea was.

 

“You got any images of the last fellow to try to kill her?” he said.

 

"Karreth?" Verlel shook her head. "I don't think so... does anyone know if he ever sat for a portrait?"

 

Nobody seemed to know of one.

 

“Well, there goes that plan,” Glen said. “Any other ideas?”

 

“What, exactly, were you going to do?” one of the rebels asked tentatively.

 

Glen shrugged. “Was going to take that, use it to create an image of him as one of the risen dead, come back to haunt Queenie.”

 

"Does it have to be him?" Ren asked. "Couldn't we just... haunt her with an unspecified ghost?"

 

Verlel raised an eyebrow. "Even if we could, that would most likely only serve to frighten her deeper into seclusion. She is already quite paranoid as it is. I doubt visitations from the dead would help."

 

“Alright, that does it,” Talis said, laying his hands on the table. “Who the hell  _ are _ you?” he asked Glen. “You talk of sunfire weapons, your form is strange, you act as though millions of your weapons are common, but why have we never heard of their like before?  _ What _ are you?”

 

Glen was silent for a moment, watching Talis. “I am a human. My home is dozens of universes away, lost to me for nearly six years. As for who I am….I am a soldier, that is all.”

 

Ren looked at him. Lost... She hadn't known that, wouldn't have guessed it. Couldn’t he go back? He’d said nothing about it, one way or the other. But then, he'd said very little of himself at Crossroads, mostly just listening while she told him her story, occasionally asking her questions but not volunteering anything of his own.

 

And the last part. There was something about the way he said it, as if calling himself a soldier were the answer to a question quite apart from the ones Talis was asking.

 

Talis looked unsure of himself. "I... I don't... It's just that..."

 

"Other universes..." said the Archivist, sounding a bit awed.

 

“Yup,” Glen said. “Each with worlds beyond counting within them.  _ None _ of which could make a damn decent cup of coffee, either.” He shook his head. “But back to the point. What are we going to do to get Queenie out of her hiding spot?”

 

"Is there... maybe a way to get into the tower, instead of trying to get her to come out?" Ren bit her lip, already knowing it was unlikely.

 

"If there was, we would have made use of it long before now," said Verlel. "No, we have to lure her out. And unless anyone has another suggestion for how...?" She looked around at the others.

 

Ren tried to think of something, anything, but her mind was a blank.

 

“Why not just blow up the tower?”

 

"Greenstone is a very old court," said the Archivist. When this earned him a 'so what?' expression from Glen, he went on. "It was built with more than mere masonry. Damaging any part of it... well, it would be nearly impossible, and if you did manage it, it's very likely you would set off a chain reaction in the spellwork that would destroy the entire castle."

 

“Well, there goes my usual backup plan,” Glen said drily. He sighed. “So. Looks like we're doing this, whether we want to or not.”

 

"It's a perfectly good plan," said Verlel, as if the matter were so small she couldn't understand why they were making a fuss about it. "The queen will come to attend the execution, Glen will take the shot, and we will subdue the guards before they can react. Renma will not be in any more danger than any of us. It will be fine."

 

_ Unless the queen doesn't come out, _ thought Ren.  _ Or they skip the public execution and kill me quietly instead. _ She shrank down in her chair, unable to share in Verlel's confidence.

 

But she didn't say anything. There were a lot more lives than hers at stake, and this was the only chance they had. What else could she do but agree to go along with it?

 

“We need people worried enough to need reassurance, to ensure she goes with the public display,” Glen said, giving her a look. Something flickered behind his eyes, something close to the warmth he’d shown the boy. “Otherwise, she might be fearful enough to go straight for killing you quietly.” He paused, then grinned. “How attached are you to the Queen's Guard, and where are their barracks?”

 

Cor answered. “The Queen’s Guard are loyal to a man; practically speaking, it's a requirement for joining. We have no friends there.” He looked rueful, as if this were an affront to him personally. “They have barracks in two places, one in the northeast tower and the other attached to the central yard. What do you have in mind?”

 

“What would their reaction be to having one of those barracks killed to a man by an ava?”

 

Farasee gave Ren a sharp look, then stared hard at Glen. "Thought you said you were 'human'," she said.   
  
"He  _ is _ ," said Ren, irritated.   
  
"Admittedly his appearance is enough to raise suspicions," said Verlel. She turned to Glen. "To answer your question, it would send not only the remaining Queen's Guard, but the whole castle into an uproar."   
  
“Good. When should I go do that?”

 

"We'll need time to gather men to send with you," said Cor. "I'll join you myself, and I have a few others in mind."

 

“No need,” Glen said blithely. “I can handle it.”

 

Cor was not the only one to raise an incredulous eyebrow at that. Even Ren, who had seen how quickly Glen could move, couldn’t imagine him taking an an entire barracks full of guards by himself. 

"Queen's Guard are highly trained, both as soldiers and as mancers,” said Cor. “These men are dangerous. And there will be two hundred and fifty of them in there."

 

Glen’s hands blurred, and a sharp buzz cut through the air. The wall opposite him abruptly grew several dozen knives. “I can handle it,” he repeated.

 

A long moment of silence greeted this display. Then Verlel nodded. “Very well. In that case, I recommend you wait a few days anyway, long enough for you to consult on the manufacturing. If you're captured, unlikely though that may be, I want to still have options.”

 

Glen nodded. “A few days after that, to let the story ferment…”

 

Verlel nodded again. "Yes. While tension is high and before Temor can do anything about it."

 

"That's how much time we have to prepare, then?" said Talis. "A week?"

 

"I know it isn't long, but this is the best opportunity we've had in years, and it will not last," said Verlel.

 

Talis sighed, but nodded. "Alright. If that's the case, it's time I got moving. There's work to be done."

 

Glen stood, making his way back out of the room.

  
Ren looked around. A babble of talk had broken out, everyone making their plans and coordinating them with each other. No one paid her any mind, and really, her part in all this was set. If there was planning to be done in that regard, Verlel would tell her so. No one, she felt sure, would mind if she left. She got up quietly -- Verlel noticed, but did not try to stop her -- and slipped out.


	5. Forem joins the good guys

The cell was...not exactly a cell. More of a room. The only real difference from any other room was the presence of a black substance blocking the entrance. He didn't want to approach it. Probably would have had a nasty effect.

He hadn't slept well.

 

Forem sat on the bed, wondering how long they would keep him here before--

 

The shadowy barrier rippled, then melted away.

 

In the entranceway stood- oh  _ shit. _

“They make you the catering crew, or did you decide to poison me?” his mouth, moving without his brain directing it, said blithely. Dammit, brain!

The killer simply chuckled, setting the plate of food he was carrying on the room’s one table.

 

Someone else appeared in the entry. A very small someone. Was that... a child?

 

"Cassiel, no, wait out here," said a voice he recognized as the traitor's. The little boy ignored her and came into the room anyway, walking right up to the killer, unafraid. The traitor followed him in.

 

The killer shrugged. “We’d like to discuss your daughter.”

 

"If you hurt her, I swear I'll kill you," Forem growled. He didn't care what it would take, or what it would cost him. If they so much as  _ threatened _ Tild, he'd--

 

“We think there might be a way to cure her.”

 

Forem stopped. He stared at the killer, running those words through his head over and over, trying to work out if they really meant when he thought they did. "...what?"

 

“Might cure, might just stop the drain.” The killer opened his coat, exposing a rigid vest, made of some sort of segmented black armor. “This thing is supposed to be invisible to magic. Anyone wearing it just….blends into the background, as far as seeing their Essence goes. The two of us think if we copy the spell, it might be usable to cure anyone the Queen's draining. Including your daughter. We’d like to test it here first, but with nobody here affected…”

 

Could that really be? The healers said there was no cure. The mancers said there was nothing they could do either. None of the sick children had gotten any better, only worse. Was there... could there be...

 

Just as he began to feel hopeful for the first time since Tild began to weaken, a dark thought struck him. He shook his head. "Don't. Please don't use that. Don't give me false hope just to get what you want from me. Torture would be less cruel."

 

“False hope? No. We're asking you to come with us so we can go get your child. Put the vest on her. It works there, we take both of you back with us, and start working out copying the spell. If not, we're no worse off than before.” The killer paused. “I wouldn't give you falsehoods. You join us willingly, knowing everything, or not at all.”

 

Still Forem hesitated. If he led them to her, Tild would become a hostage just as sure as he himself was a prisoner. But if the cure was genuine, if there was so much as a  _ chance _ ... He nodded. "Please. If you can help her... I'd do anything."

 

"It's not an exchange," said the traitor. "We're not asking you to tell us anything, or fight with us, or do anything you don't want to do. We're just trying to find a way to protect the children, your daughter included, and we need your help to reach them."

 

The killer stood back up. “Eat up, then come find me. Then we'll go get your daughter.” He patted the child on the shoulder. “Come on, Cassiel. We should leave him to his meal.”

 

Forem stood, too. "Can’t we go now?" he asked.

 

The killer and the traitor-- Glen and Renma-- exchanged glances. “Don't see why not,” the former said with a shrug.

 

"Tild... she's... I don't want to wait," said Forem. Not for another minute, not when his daughter was...

 

"How old is she?" the-- Renma asked.

 

"Four."

 

Renma's eyes widened a little. She looked at Glen, and nodded. "He's right. It can't wait."

 

“Let's get moving, then,” Glen said, already out the entryway, Cassiel following him like a shadow.

 

Forem went after them, Renma behind him. They led the way through the tunnels. He didn't recognize any of the passages, but Glen seemed to know where he was going.

 

"We'll have to stop and ask Verlel for the trigger words to the wards," said Renma as they walked.

 

Cassiel looked back and shook his head. He tugged on Glen's sleeve, then pointed to himself. Odd boy. Didn't he talk?

 

“You know the way?” Glen asked.

 

Cassiel nodded, still not saying anything. He walked ahead of them, beckoning. The other two followed him, so Forem did, too. What did he know about wards? Except to stay away from them.

 

The tunnel leading out of the rebels' hideout didn't look any different than the others. They had a better light this time -- Renma provided it, in the form of a little glowing ball hovering over her hand, and the only word Forem had for that was  _ eerie _ \-- but still he didn't recognize the passage for what it was until Cassiel stopped and made a sharp gesture in the air. This time, with the brighter light, Forem could actually see the air in the tunnel shimmer and seem to move, some barely-perceptible barrier parting to let them pass.

 

He shivered. He thought he probably preferred  _ not _ being able to see that sort of thing.

 

It happened three more times before they finally left the tunnels behind and made their way into the Underhalls. There, Renma took the lead, dousing her light and guiding them quickly to the nearest stairway up into the castle proper. She seemed confident, tail up and steps light, which was an odd contrast to her earlier behavior. It was harder to see her as a slinking criminal when she stopped her nervous, guilty creeping and moved with conviction, intent on her goal. Of course, that goal was helping his daughter, so perhaps his perception of her wasn't exactly unbiased.

 

They encountered no real trouble in making their way to the east tower, where the healers' wards were. There were patrols, and a few close shaves as they scrambled to stay out of sight, but the emptiness of the castle -- with no one allowed to move freely -- worked very much in their favor. It was information he might, at another time, have stored away to be shared with his captain when or if he had escaped... but now he saw it not as a weakness to be reported and corrected, but an advantage. One he felt no qualms, at least in that moment, about exploiting.

 

Glen stopped them before they rounded the corner to the tower’s entrance, hand held out. “Guard at the door,” he said. “Gilded armor. Queen’s Guard?”

 

Forem nodded.

 

“If he sees us, there’ll be problems,” Glen whispered. “Don't want to kill him. More problems there.”

 

Forem looked around. Maybe...

 

He went back a short distance, to an archway leading into a small room. It was unoccupied, and he waved the others over. "You three, wait in here. Stay quiet, and out of sight. Alright? I have an idea."

 

Glen stared him down for a moment, then nodded, ushering the others inside.

 

Forem went down the passage the other way, away from the tower, until he thought he was mostly out of earshot. Then he bolted, down the hall and straight up to the guard, as fast as he could.

 

The guard heard him coming, and already had his spear at the ready when Forem rounded the corner, the broadhead glowing ominously. Forem slid to a stop just shy of the weapon's reach and doubled over, putting his hands on his knees and panting as if he'd run a kilometer instead a few meters. "I... I saw..." He raised a hand, pointing back the way he'd come. "going... up the..." some more gasping, "...southeast..." He gave a good wheeze and trailed off.

 

"What?" barked the guard. "What did you see?"

 

"Traitor," Forem huffed. "Couldn't... stop her. She... using magic..."

 

"Southeast tower?"

 

Forem nodded without lifting his head.

 

"You stay here," the guard told him, and sprinted around the corner and down the hall, headed toward the southeast tower.

 

When he couldn't hear the guard's footsteps anymore, Forem straightened and turned around, abandoning his winded-runner act. A moment later, the other three came around the corner to join him.

 

"What were you planning to do if he called for reinforcements instead of running off?" Renma asked.

 

"By now, he's already calling for them," Forem told her. "Queen's Guard can signal each other for help from a distance. Don’t ask me how; it’s one of their things. But by the time he gets to the other tower, he'll have plenty of backup."

 

“Nice work,” Glen said, walking up behind him. “Now let's get moving before they realize they've been made fools of.”

 

"Hopefully it will take them a while," said Forem. "They have a whole tower to search." Even so, he wasted no time heading up the stairway toward the healers’ ward.

 

Glen stopped dead when they reached the top. “God have mercy….” he breathed softly.

 

Forem nodded, then quietly made his way into the room, stepping carefully between rows and rows of little cots, all full. Most of the children slept, and the few that were awake were listless and glassy-eyed. He felt for them, and for their families, but the only child he really had eyes for was his own sweet Tild.

 

Before he could reach her though, one of the healers noticed the new arrivals and came toward them.

 

"No visitors today," said the healer, voice quiet but firm. "And what are you doing here? No one is supposed to be out--" Her gaze flicked from him to the three behind him, and she stopped, staring. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened.

 

"Don't," said Forem, grabbing her upper arms. The scream in her throat came out as a startled squeak instead, and she shifted her frightened stare to him.

 

Scream or no, they had attracted attention. Now another healer was headed straight for them. Forem growled, frustrated... but then he saw the heavily lined face and the greying hair habitually worn in a loose tail. She marched up to them, and he quickly let go of the first healer, stepping back.

 

"Young man," the older woman said, fixing him with a no-nonsense stare, "what do you think you're doing?"

 

"I'm sorry, Alona. I just came to see Tild, I don't mean to cause a stir."

 

"And your friends?"

 

"Them, too. They're..." but she wasn't listening. She was staring at the trio in question. "It's alright," he rushed to assure her. "It... everything is fine. Alona? It's fine. Please."

 

She looked at him. Despite her age, or perhaps because of it, she had a formidable presence. If she decided to raise an alarm, there would be no stopping her.

 

But after a moment, she nodded. Without another word, she took the younger woman by the elbow and steered her firmly away. Forem could see some of the other healers watching all this. As Alona marched away, every one of them bent back to their tasks, not giving him and the others so much as a second glance.

 

“Your friend is formidable,” Glen said quietly, following behind him, hand up to his chest, wrapped tight around an amulet of some kind.

 

"She is that," Forem agreed. "She's also the best healer in the court, and respected for that and more."

 

He was already moving again, headed for a cot near the wall. He reached it and knelt at his daughter's bedside. She looked so small and fragile, lying there. He lifted her thin hand in his, and softly brushed her hair out of her face, tucking it behind the little horn bud at her temple. She didn't stir.

 

Glen moved to her other side, shedding his coat and vest. The shirt underneath was tight-fitting, black with long sleeves. He lifted Tild, pulling the vest onto her. “Hope this works,” he breathed.

 

Renma joined them, watching Tild with strangely unfocused eyes. It made Forem nervous; he wanted to scoop his little girl up and shield her from that unnatural stare. When Renma reached out a hand, he only barely restrained himself from knocking it aside. She hesitated, glancing at him as if she knew what he'd nearly done even though he hadn't moved. Then she rested her hand lightly on Tild's head.

 

"I can't see her Essence," said Renma. "But the thread connecting her to the rest of the court... it's fading away."

 

'What... does that mean?" asked Forem, suddenly fearful.

 

"It's a good thing," Renma reassured him. "That connection is the conduit for the drain on her energy. Without it, she should be able to recover."

 

“So it does work,” Glen said quietly. “How long?”

 

"I'm not sure--"

 

Tild moved, turning her head and shifting under the heavy blanket. She took a deep breath, and let it out in a long sigh. Her breathing seemed easier, her sleep less heavy. Forem though perhaps even her hand in his seemed warmer already.

 

“Guess,” Glen said. “At the very least, can we move her safely?”

 

Forem's hands shook, and he leaned down to place a soft kiss on Tild's forehead.

 

"I... I don't know," said Renma. "I only know the draw on her energy has stopped. I don't... I've never trained as a healer."

 

"Alona," said Forem. "She'll know."

 

Renma nodded and stood, quickly scanning the room. She lifted a hand, waving urgently, and moments later Alona was beside Forem, looking down at Tild, who seemed smaller than ever wrapped in the far too large vest.

 

“You're a healer. Can she be moved?” Glen asked.

 

Alona felt Tild's forehead, then checked her pulse. She watched the child breathe, then bent low, placing her ear right up against Tild's thin chest.

 

"Strong pulse, no labored breathing... What did you do?" The healer's voice was both awed and demanding.

 

Glen shrugged. “As you can guess, not from around here. My people's magic offers alternatives that yours can't.”

 

The healer looked at him, expression veiled as she assessed his words. "Can you help the others?"

 

"We hope to," said Renma. "It's the vest that protects her. We're going to try to replicate the effect, so we can protect the others, too."

 

Alona shifted her gaze to Renma. "What is it protecting them from? We've worked so closely with the mancers, any magical cause should have come to light."

 

Renma shook her head. "They could never have found it. It's the queen's doing. She's using the Bond to draw energy from the entire court. The children... they can't tolerate it. Especially the youngest."

 

Alona was silent for so long that Forem thought she wasn't going to answer. Then she said, "I would never have believed it. But I've watched the little ones fade away with my own eyes. We've lost so many..." She shook her head. She looked at Ren. "I recognized you when I saw you, Weaver girl. You're the one they're all looking for. The traitor."

 

Renma nodded.

 

"Well. Hear this. Whatever you've done, or whatever it is you're planning to do, I don't care. If you and your friend, whoever or whatever he is, can help these children, do it. And as far as I'm concerned, I never saw any of you, here or anyplace else."

 

She nodded sharply. "Yes, you can move the child. Keep her warm, and any time that she's awake, try to get her to drink more water. She's dehydrated. If she's hungry, give her mild foods, and not too much at first. And if she takes a turn for the worse,  _ you send for me _ . Clear?"

 

“Crystal,” Glen said, with no small hint of fear. “We'll be going.”

  
Forem scooped Tild up, cradling her close. She curled into him and settled, not waking. "Thank you," he said, looking at her and not knowing if he was talking to Alona, or Glen and Renma, or maybe even to the gods themselves, if they were listening. Anyone and everyone who'd played a part in putting his precious little girl back in his arms.


	6. Tea

They had done good work today. He knew that. First he had discovered a new  **[mission]** , then another. One to  **[hunt]** , the other to  **[protect].** The latter had not been since what had  _ happened _ a dozen universes ago.

He ghosted along behind Forem and his daughter, the boy at his side, Renma ahead of them all, and he was content.

He had not expected the healer to let them go so easily, but she had been a different sort from most. Dedicated, almost like him. Never allowing harm to innocents.

The boy was a conundrum. Why  _ that name _ had been the one he had chosen, he had no idea.

_ [Fate?] _

**[Unlikely]**

Still, someone so quiet was a welcome blessing. He was bright, and curious, without intruding. That he had been neglected merely for being mute….he had someone to speak with, when they returned.

Distant echoes up ahead, regimented movements. He pushed to the head of their little group, stopping the others. “Quickly, hide,” he said, pointing towards a curtained-off room.

 

Unquestioningly, Renma snatched Cassiel by the hand and ducked into the indicated room. Forem followed right behind them, holding his daughter tight.

 

He followed them in, then stopped. Well. This was awkward.

Four more Demeki were sitting around a low table, a fifth standing and pouring tea for them. The nearest man’s teacup was quietly overflowing as all five stared at their group, specifically at him.

**[Fu** _ ck]. _

 

"Sorry to interrupt," said Renma, in calm, polite tones, as if this situation were not at all unusual. "Do you mind if we stay for a few minutes? I promise we won't be a bother. Just... um..." -the front was breaking down- "pretend we're not here. If you would." By the end, her 'this is normal, just relax' approach had deteriorated into something closer to 'will you please stay quiet if I just keep talking'. Points for effort, though.

 

The Demeki family stared at her in utter bewilderment. That is, the ones that weren't still staring at  _ him _ with dawning horror. The man with the overflowing teacup suddenly shook himself out of his shock and jumped to his feet.

 

Glen moved to block the entranceway, and his right hand vanished into the depths of his coat. Couldn't kill, but he could do other things. He shook his head at the man, and held a finger to his lips. Thank the Lord he had the ability to intimidate people into silence here, otherwise things would not go well.

The marching was getting closer.

He nodded to Forem, and jerked his head at one of the unoccupied cushioned chairs.

 

Forem gave him a 'this isn't going to work' look, but took the seat, settling his daughter on his lap. Unbidden, Cassiel sat down, too, reaching across the table to steal another Demeki's cup of tea and push it over in front of Forem instead. The Demeki whose tea had been taken looked momentarily bereft, before remembering they had other things to worry about. 

 

Glen almost smiled.

His hand finally closed around what he was looking for, and he pulled out the package of cookies he’d picked up a couple universes back. He held it out to Forem, who took it slowly, then reached back in to retrieve his coffee urn. 

You had to love the little things, like the pocket dimensions hidden inside coats like his. Pity his supply of good coffee had run out, but one learned to make do, even with inferior supplies.

The beans whirled in the small container, the grinder working silently as he dropped into a cross-legged position in front of the entrance, and began to brew the drink.

 

Nobody said a word. Renma was giving him a very strange look; somewhere between confused disbelief and a pained effort not to laugh.

 

Glen ignored the expression, and poured himself a mug of the fragrant beverage, putting away the brewing equipment quickly. No sugar, no milk. Not that he had either on him. Run out of sugar, and he’d stop storing perishables in his coat after an apple had accidentally become sentient. Magic was  _ weird. _

Still, he didn't see what was so funny about a man taking what comfort he could. Coffee was important in that regard.

**[Agreed.]**

_ [Focus.] _

The guards were drawing nearer, nearly a dozen by the noise.

 

Forem was looking at the package of cookies like he'd never seen their like before. To be fair, he probably hadn't.

 

"Who  _ are _ you people?" said one of the women. But she said it quietly.

 

Cassiel took the cookies from Forem and handed them to her. She, too, looked confused, but it did postpone any further questions.

 

Glen drank from his mug, savoring the warm caffeine, before answering. “Cannot speak for the rest, but I’ve been many things in my time. A soldier, a saint, an assassin, an architect, from time to time a king.” He had been. Pity about the last one, where it turned out they ritually killed and ate their kings. He’d barely gotten out of there alive.

 

"Those things... don't seem related," said the man who had leapt up. He slowly sat back down. He looked a little disoriented, as if he wasn't quite sure what he was doing, sitting down to tea and a chat with the strangers -- one of which was very strange indeed, the man's expression clearly said -- who had burst in on him and his family.

 

Glen grinned. “They aren't.” Well, they’d all been needed for one mission or another.

 

"How did you go from one to the other?" asked the poor fellow who'd been relieved of his tea.

 

"And what are you now?" pressed the woman who'd spoken first.

 

His grin widened a bit more. Much as he might try to deny it, he enjoyed messing with people. “Oh, a bit of a devil, a bit of a hero, and a bit of everything in between.” He took another sip of coffee.

 

They stared at him. No-Tea and Too-Much-Tea exchanged a worried glance.

 

Cassiel, meanwhile. took the cookies back from the woman, apparently less concerned with Glen's various labels than with figuring out what the mysterious item was that all the adults failed to be appropriately interested in. He got the package open, and peeked inside.

 

Chocolate chip. He hoped the kid enjoyed them. Surprisingly cheap, too. What government had cloth money? It was so easily stolen, it wasn't even funny. At least credit chits could be traced.

 

While Cassiel made the (judging by his expression) life-changing discovery of cookies, the man with the teapot, who had somewhere along the way stopped watering the table with tea, ventured a question of his own. "Ah... what... are you doing here?"

 

“Long story.” The guards were right outside. He sent a quiet prayer for them to move on.

 

"Well... um... perhaps at least, ah, the part about why you're  _ here _ , in our home. Right now."

 

"Oh, Aellin, honestly. They're hiding from those fellows outside," said the woman, voice low.

 

"I realize that. What I am  _ trying _ to--"

 

Cassiel abruptly offered the man a cookie.

 

"Uh... thank you?"

 

Glen shrugged, drinking some more coffee. “You were saying?” he asked, as the group of guards tramped by.

 

“I wa… uh… was going to say…” He seemed to have forgotten, distracted by the sound of the guards passing just outside.

 

“Let me know when it comes to you,” Glen said levelly.

Forem was making an active effort not to choke on his tea.

The curtain shifted, and a hand appeared at the edge, beginning to open it.

Glen  _ moved _ , leaping straight up, hands and feet finding irregularities in the stonework of the arch and ceiling, holding on for dear life.

Below him, a guard peered in.

 

Forem's teacup somehow upended itself with a clatter, drawing wayward gazes down to the table just as the guard looked in. "Gah!" The man whose tea it had originally been jumped up as the spilled drink splashed him.

Clever man.

 

The guard looked around, nodded to himself, and left, not saying a word.

The sound of marching feet began to recede-- but then it redoubled, and a pair of guards burst through the entryway, swords drawn.

Glen sighed mentally, and dropped on top of both of them, boots colliding with heads, knocking both men to the floor. “Time to go,” he said cheerily. A whisper of movement behind him, and he stepped to the side just in time to avoid being skewered by another guard’s spear. “Now would be good,” he added, as he latched onto the spearhaft, ripping it from its owner's hands and using it as a club. The poor bastard’s jaw was never going to be the same, he reflected, as he stepped out into the corridor, the familiar weight of his knives filling his hands.

Twenty-one guards, none of them blocking their escape route, so long as he held the line. All watching him fearfully.

Well. This was what he was made for, wasn't he?

 

Renma came out first, taking in the situation in the hall at a glance and then waving the others out. Forem bolted without hesitation, he daughter in his arms. Cassiel came out and headed, despite Renma's attempt to stop him, straight for Glen.

Not good.

 

“Cassiel, go,” he said quietly. “I don't want you getting hurt.” The guards were too afraid of him to press closer, but they were working up the courage, he could see it. Cassiel getting mixed up in the melee was  **[unacce** _ ptable]. _

 

Cassiel shook his head, taking up a stance beside Glen. Not a fighter's stance -- feet wrong, hands wrong -- but the intent was there. Renma reached them then, but when she tried to pull the boy away, he dodged out of her reach... and stumbled right into reach of the guards. The nearest one overcame his surprise at this turn of events, and grabbed Cassiel, immediately dragging him backward into their midst.

 

**[No.]**

His hands moved, and the nearest three guards fell, bleeding out as he took a step forward, snarling.  _ They would not have him! _

 

"Let go of him!" Renma's voice, sharp and angry. 

 

Cassiel struggled, and succeeded in kicking his captor in the ankle hard enough to make him stumble. The guard retaliated, and hit the boy in the stomach. Cassiel doubled up, mouth open in a soundless cry.

 

Everything went  _ red. _

**[Kill!]**

The guard holding Cassiel went down first, blood spraying from severed neck and hand as wires sprang from his sleeves, hair thin, cutting and slicing at his direction. Four more were caught in the web, and Glen  _ pulled _ . Pieces of guardsmen slid to the floor as the floor went slick and red. He charged, jumping over raised spearpoints, spinning out with his knives, rolling to a halt behind them as three more crumpled. The remaining guards took one look at the carnage, and ran, but he was not  _ [satisfied.] _ A silenced submachine gun fell into his eager hands, and green death sprayed through the air, plasma bolts scything them down in an instant. Grey casings tinkled to the floor, the sound almost hidden by the thud of bodies. The weapons vanished back into his coat as he ran back to Cassiel.

 

Cassiel was on his knees, one arm holding his stomach, the other hand braced on the floor. He looked up as Glen came over, but then put his head back down, shoulders hunched.

 

He knelt down. “You okay?” he asked softly, holding out a hand. Stupid. He was hurting, obviously. And the surroundings weren't helping. He pulled the child into a hug.

 

At first Cassiel stiffened, as if being hugged were the last possible thing he expected. Finally he raised his head, looking at Glen with big eyes and a tense, uncertain expression.

 

“Come on,” he said gently, hefting the kid up on his shoulder as he stood slowly. “Let's get going.” He felt the kid clutch tight, practically burrowing into his shoulder and chest.

His boots left red prints on the stonework.

 

As he passed, the curtain at the Demeki family's door twitched, as someone on the other side backed hurriedly away. Not so much as another peep came from that quarter.

 

Renma fell silently in beside him, and the three of them left the bloodied corridor quickly behind.


	7. Cassiel plays hide and seek

Cassiel lay on his belly with his elbows draped over the ledge and his chin on his hands. He had found this nook some weeks ago, a shelf of rock, hidden in shadow, above one of the warren's lesser-used intersections. From here he could look down and see anyone that approached, yet never been seen himself.

 

It was a good place for being alone, and for not being found, both of which appealed to him at the moment.

 

He'd messed up, and he knew it. It was maybe, no,  _ definitely _ the worst messing up he'd ever done, ever. He should have gone with Renma like Glen told him to, he should have listened... but he'd wanted to stay with Glen. He'd wanted to help.

 

And then--

 

Cassiel shook the memories away, biting his lip hard enough to hurt.

 

It was all his fault.

 

His mind went in circles. He kept thinking of the guards. They were  _ dead _ now. If he'd just listened... but no, because he  _ had _ listened when his Da told him almost the same thing Glen did -- not to help, to stay safe instead -- and now Da was... He was... Now Da was dead, too.

 

Don't help... Help... Listen... Don't listen... He could never get it right, either way. What was he supposed to  _ do _ ?

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, putting his forehead down on his hands, and tried to pretend he wasn't crying.

 

A quick rustle came from underneath him, and he opened his eyes again. Glen sat across from his hiding space, cross-legged. He didn't speak.

 

Cassiel sniffled, and wiped at his face with the back of his hand. He ducked his head, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. Well, technically he had. He'd snuck off again, even though he couldn't even  _ pretend _ not to know better by this point.

 

Glen still didn't speak, but he reached into his coat again, taking out a familiarly-shaped package. He tossed it underneath Cassiel's hiding spot. Then he waited.

 

Cookies? It wasn't the first time adults had offered him things -- sweets, toys, promises -- to get him to do something. It usually wasn't a good sign.

 

But he already knew he was on the downhill with Glen. That was inevitable. If he was going to get the, 'You won't be seeing me anymore, but don't worry, you'll be looked after,' speech anyway, then at least he could enjoy--

 

No. The thought of Glen -- the first person since his Da... died... to make him feel like things might be okay somehow -- telling him, no matter how nicely, that he didn't want him around... even cookies couldn't make  _ that _ better.

 

Cassiel scooched backward on the ledge until only his eyes and the top of his head could be seen.

 

_ That _ got a reaction from Glen: his head snapped up, watching him carefully. “I’m  _ not _ leaving,” he said. “Not going to happen.”

 

Cassiel blinked, surprised. He gave Glen an 'I don't believe you' look.

 

“I just… wanted to say I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you get hurt. Should have been faster,” he said softly.

 

What? That... that wasn't... Cassiel frowned and shook his head. Glen didn't do anything wrong. It was Cassiel who started all the trouble, who made a dumb mistake and got himself caught, and then made it worse by kicking the stupid (dead, that man was dead now, oh gods) guard. He sat up and made a 'no' gesture toward Glen, then pointed to himself instead.

 

Glen shook his head. “You? No. It would have ended in blood regardless.” He sighed. “So that's why you're up there? You think it's your fault?” He shook his head again. “I was supposed to  _ protect _ you, and I didn't. If you have to blame someone, blame me.”

 

Cassiel shook his head again. Glen had it all wrong.

 

Ugh! If only Cassiel could just open his mouth and explain. But he couldn’t. He sighed sharply, frustrated.

 

“Still. Not leaving you.”

 

The frustration faded into resignation. He'd heard that before. It might even be true. 

 

For a while.

 

He suddenly found it easier not to look at Glen.

 

“And teaching you to defend yourself. If you insist on following along, I don't want them being able to take you when you don't want it,” Glen added. He paused. “I know from what Renma said before I came here, that her people can see souls. Well, I’m not wearing the vest. Take a look and see if I’m lying.  _ I’m not leaving you behind _ .”

 

_ Wait here, _ his father's voice echoed in his head.  _ I'll come back for you. _

 

Don't leave me...

 

Cassiel shook himself, and focused instead on the other part of what Glen had said.

 

Souls? Could Renma see souls? And why did she or Glen think Cassiel could? He could see not-seen, but that wasn't the same thing. And mostly no one believed he could even see that.

 

Besides, Glen wasn't visible in the not-seen. Or, he hadn't been.  Maybe now?

 

Cassiel refocused his eyes and looked at Glen. He  _ could _ see him now, but he still didn't look like anybody else Cassiel had ever seen. The not-seen around him was dense and moved strangely, slow and  _ prowling _ . Weirder than that, though, were the layers, like Glen was somehow three people rolled up in one. It was confusing, and staring at it made Cassiel a little dizzy.

But it was blunt and  _ warm _ , somehow honest. Straightforward. And it reached out to him.

 

All by itself, Cassiel's own not-seen reached back.

 

He blinked. Looked at Glen with just his eyes again. Glen was watching Cassiel with a look that Cassiel  _ wanted _ , so badly. A really-seeing-you look. A caring-about-you look. A here-for-you look.

 

Cassiel jumped down from the ledge, landing lightly in front of Glen. He straightened up, then stood there, not knowing what to do, not sure if it was really okay--

 

Glen pulled him into a hug. Cassiel sighed, hugging him back and holding on tight. After a long moment, Glen let him go again. “So. The training?” he asked softly.

 

Cassiel nodded.

 

“Any idea what you want to learn to fight with?” Glen said, standing briefly to reclaim the package of cookies, then sitting back down beside him.

 

He'd forgotten about the cookies. He eyed them while he thought about Glen's question. Glen, Cassiel had noticed, always wore a knife at his belt. Da had always carried a knife, too. Cassiel pointed to the one Glen wore and raised an eyebrow. Maybe a knife?

 

Glen cocked his head, and smiled slightly. “Heh. Figures. Sure, I can teach you to use a kukri.” He opened the package of cookies, holding it out to Cassiel.

 

Mmm, cookies. Why had nobody ever told him before now that such things existed? Cassiel took three. He bit into one and grinned.  _ So. Good. _

 

Glen grinned back. “Better?”

 

Slowly, Cassiel nodded. He did feel better. Not about everything. For a moment his thoughts drifted back to the fight in the corridor... but he pushed it away. He didn't want to think about that. Instead, he looked again at Glen's knife. Glen had called it something else, something with a hard 'k' sound. He tipped his head, curious about the name and why Glen had seemed amused by Cassiel's choice.

 

“The name of the blade? Or why it's funny you want to learn it's use?”

 

Cassiel just nodded.

 

“In order, then. Kukri is a specific type of knife.” He drew his. “Heavy, meant for slashing work, no straight point. Useless for stabbing, but can take off a man’s head in one swing with the right leverage.”

 

The blade Glen held up was broader toward the tip than near the handle, and it bent partway along its length, almost like a claw. It looked every bit as dangerous as Glen described. Cassiel's eyes widened.

 

“The reason I found it funny….well, that's all bound up with the name you chose, and….that ain't exactly something I like to think about.” He looked away for a moment.

 

Cassiel hesitated. He didn't like the look in Glen's eyes, or the way his shoulders had stiffened. He knew what that look felt like, because he'd worn it himself. It was a hurting look.

 

He scooted closer to Glen and leaned into his side, patting his arm with one hand.

 

Glen let out a breath. “But if you want to know, I’ll tell you,” he said.

 

Cassiel shook his head. He didn't want Glen to be sad. He knew how it felt when people tried to talk to you about things you didn't even like to think about; he would not do that to Glen.

 

So he offered him one of the cookies back instead.

 

Glen took it. “Thanks,” he said quietly. Cassiel had a feeling he wasn't talking about the cookie.


	8. The care and training of your small child

Glen frowned at Cassiel's first attempt at a stance. “Hands up, feet farther apart,” he said.

 

Cassiel looked down at his feet as he shifted them, then raised his hands higher and looked up at Glen.

He nodded and smiled, letting him know he had it right.

 

“Better.”

Wasn't just the boy’s stance. Training was the  _ [optimal] _ way to keep him safe. As had been proven, he couldn't  **[guard]** against everything. He didn't like it, but that was a fact.

Should have guessed he’d want to learn the blade he did. Was it fate? Or just chance? Either way, he intended to make Johan proud.

**[Agr** _ eed] _

“The sheath held on proper? No movement or loose straps?”

Smart boy, he didn't assume, he checked. Then nodded.

 

“Good. I’m not the sort to insist you have things perfect, you’ll have to figure it out on your own. So, how about a spar?” He drew his own wooden trainer version of his knife, properly weighted, and shrugged off his coat.

 

This isolated room was a blessing, really. Nobody to watch and stare at him or Cassiel. They likely wouldn't approve of a grown man and a child fighting.

 

Cassiel nodded eagerly.

 

He slid into his own combat stance, blade held close to his chest. “Bring it, then,” he said with a grin. “Let's see what you can do.”

 

Cassiel stepped forward and tried to take a swipe at Glen's midsection.

 

Slow. Glen took a step back, out of reach. His own blade lashed out, but he slowed his strike. Kid wouldn't learn if he went all-out.

 

Skipping backward out of the path of the strike, Cassiel just managing to avoid it. He regained his stance quickly, tail out to aid his balance. He looked at Glen for a moment, shifting a little on his feet.

 

Then he  _ leapt _ . Fast and high, the jump carried him past Glen, wooden blade scraping Glen's upper arm as the boy went by. He landed lightly, ending the controlled jump with his tail up and his arms out for balance. He spun quickly to face Glen again, eagerly looking to him for approval.

 

He blinked. He had honestly not been expecting that. Could have knocked the kid out of midair, but operating under restrictions meant he stayed slower. He grinned. “Nice work,” he said. “But don't do it too often. You jump, you can't dodge in midair.” That got a solemn nod in response. 

He raised his own blade. “Continue?”

 

In answer, Cassiel darted forward again, trying for Glen's leg this time.

 

His own kukri swung down, deflecting the blade, and he used the motion to strike at Cassiel's free arm.

 

Cassiel twisted, and might still have taken the hit on his shoulder, but he dropped under it, dropping into a crouch and then bouncing up again after it passed, scrambling back.

 

Glen let him get back out of reach before moving forward again, blade ready.

 

Cassiel backed up, moving to one side as he tried to get out of Glen's direct line of attack.

 

Glen simply turned, keeping himself facing the boy, before lunging forward, kukri flashing down.

Cassiel turned and stepped back, letting the blade pass him, and struck out himself, a move Glen deflected again. The kid would have to figure out he was telegraphing his moves himself. Best way to learn was experience.

They continued trading blows for a few moments, with him always avoiding or blocking Cassiel's strikes, before a thoughtful expression crossed the boy’s face.  _ There _ it was.

 

Cassiel moved again, straight at him at first and then suddenly changing direction, ducking low as Glen's arm came up, and then turning the movement into a swipe at Glen's forward leg.

 

Glen jumped back, the blade missing him by centimeters, and grinned. “That's the idea,” he said. “And just in time, too. It's time for lunch.”

 

He got a broad grin in response to the praise, and a fervent nod in answer to the suggestion of food.

 

“Keep the knife,” he added as he picked up his coat. “You’ll need to get used to the weight.” 

  
“Now, let's see what we can find.”


	9. Ren does magic

Glen and Cassiel had both vanished when they got back to the warren with Forem and his daughter, Cassiel simply disappearing when no one -- save Glen, apparently -- was looking, and Glen only pausing long enough to give Ren a nod before he went after the boy. That left Ren quite without backup as she explained to Verlel why Forem was not confined, why his daughter was in the warren instead of the healer's’ ward, and why Ren had blood splatters on her clothing. Also, why Glen was missing again.

 

None of her answers were well received.

 

But the results couldn't be argued with. Forem's little girl was still pale, but she was awake and alert, sitting up in her father's arms, tail moving restlessly as she stared around with bright, watchful eyes.  Glen's vest was almost absurdly big on her, swallowing her up.

 

Verlel, however, only shook her head. "You released a prisoner without permission; left the warren on your own, also without permission; risked discovery and capture; revealed yourselves to people whose allegiances you did not know, _ twice _ ; and engaged in an attack on castle forces that will now put them all on even higher alert and make it that much harder for us to move around the castle to do the things we actually  _ need _ to do." Her tone was calm, but her eyes glittered. Ren couldn't meet those eyes.

 

"But Tild--"

 

"Was not worth it."

 

Ren stared.

 

"You think that sounds harsh? Then you don't understand what's going on. You put one child's life ahead of the lives of this entire court."

 

"The other childr--"

 

"You said yourself that you didn't even know if the vest would work, and you  _ still _ don't know how to duplicate the effect. Ifs and maybes are not worth what you put at risk. You want to help the other children? Help us stop the queen. Now go find-- no, don't. Stay here. Don't go  _ anywhere _ until I come back.  _ I’ll _ find Glen and... what was the boy's name?"

 

"Cassiel," said Ren quietly.

 

"Who is-? Nevermind. Just  _ stay here _ ."

 

Verlel left. Ren looked over at Forem, standing with Tild by the fire on the other side of the room.

 

“For what it's worth,  _ I _ think you did well,” he said.

 

"Thanks." Ren looked at Tild. "And she is worth it, even if she's the only one. Which she won't be. I  _ will _ figure out how that spell works."

 

Forem spread his hands. “Don't ask me. I’m not a mancer.”

 

Ren smiled. "Neither am I. But that," she nodded to the vest, "isn't mancer magic." She bit her lip. "Of course, it isn't Weaver magic, either. But... I'll figure something out."

 

“I hope so,” Forem said quietly.

 

Hesitantly, Ren asked, "Can... I hold her?"

 

Forem paused. “...Why?”

 

"While she's wearing the vest, I can't see her Essence. I'd like to try to see if I can still affect it. That will tell me something about what the spell is actually doing. Whether it’s shielding, or just concealing."

 

Forem frowned, but gently handed Tild over.

 

Ren took her with great care. She was small for a four year old, and would have been thin and delicate even if she weren't still recovering from the drain. "Hi sweetie," said Ren, smiling.

 

Tild stared at her for a moment. "Hi."

 

Under Forem's close supervision, Ren sat down in one of the chairs and settled Tild in her lap. Ren refocused her eyes. Just as it had done to Glen, the vest concealed Tild's Essence completely. It was disconcerting.

 

"I'm going to show you a trick," Ren told her.

 

"Uh-kay."

 

With one hand on Tild's back -- Ren still couldn’t Sense anything, even with direct contact -- Ren held out her other hand, palm up. She borrowed a bit of light from the fire, Weaving the strands of energy together and lacing them through with intent and a bit of mental imagery. A small, colorful shape flared into existence over her hand, transparent and glowing.

 

"Flutterbug!" said Tild, delighted.

 

Forem stared. He looked at the illusory butterflies as if they might secretly be venomous spiders.

 

"It's an illusion," said Ren, ostensibly to Tild but in truth as a reassurance to her father.

 

"A inlooshun?"

 

"Illusion. That means a pretend thing."

 

"You petend really good!" said Tild, impressed. She reached for the butterflies. Ren watched closely as she caught one; as Tild closed her hand around the 'butterfly', not only did the illusion vanish, but the Essence fueling it dissipated too. 

 

Tild opened her hand and found it empty. Her face crumpled. "Oh no!"

 

"It's alright. Look..." Ren made a replacement, and Tild cheered up again. She started to chatter -- about the butterflies, about pretending, and about subjects with no relation to anything that was going on, like the futility of lacing one's shoes. Ren paid only enough attention to avoid an indignant scolding, focusing instead on the effect the vest had on her Weavings.

 

If Tild only touched them, they bounced off as if repelled or, if they couldn't bounce away, dissipated. If they approached the girl at any kind of speed, though -- Ren sent one zooming around Tild's head and then tried to pass it through her chest, a trick that had delighted many a little one around the hearthfire -- the Weaving would break on contact.

 

Definitely a shield, then, as well as concealment.

 

"Hold your hand out for me?" Ren asked. Tild did, and Ren turned the little hand palm up and put her own hand underneath, cradling it. She brought one of the Weavings down to rest on Tild's palm, moving slowly to see how close she could get before the repelling effect happened. The Weaving eventually stopped just shy of actually touching Tild's skin, and Ren could not for the life of her get it any closer, though she tried hard enough that eventually Tild pulled her hand away, complaining that Ren's hand was too hot. "Sorry, hun," said Ren, and made up for it by adding an illusory bird to the mix.

 

Eventually Ren gave up testing the vest's defenses, and resorted to simply entertaining Tild with glowing, ethereal images of birds and butterflies and, at the girl's explicit request, one large, fat spider which elicited dramatic mock terror followed by shrieks of laughter. Poor Forem nearly jumped out of his skin over that one.

 

Which was how Verlel found them some time later, when she returned with Glen and Cassiel in tow.

 

Cassiel had an extremely large knife in a sheath on his hip, but both of them looked happier than earlier.

 

Verlel eyed Ren's little Weavings with dull annoyance. Ren quickly released them. Tild started to protest, but Forem picked her up, whispering something that quieted her surprisingly quickly.

 

As Glen sat down at the table, Cassiel unobtrusively settling into the chair next to him, Verlel sighed and shook her head. "I don't know if I even want to hear any more about this mess, but I suppose I'd better." Glen only raised an eyebrow, and Verlel gestured impatiently. " _ Report _ ," she prompted.

 

Glen’s body language…. _ changed. _ Vanished, more like, as he settled into a completely neutral pose and expression, eyes staring dully as he spoke without inflection or tone. “Mission begun 0823 hours, team comprised of Asset Azrael, Mission Head Renma, Target Cassiel, Asset Forem. Goal was extraction of Asset Forem’s daughter, for purposes of fulfilling secondary goals of primary mission.” A pause. “Target Cassiel allowed team to pass through defensive wards. No enemy contact made. Reached objective without incident at 0912 hours. Asset Forem distracted enemy guarding objective, allowing entry. Objective was retrieved, secondary and tertiary objectives completed. Forced to divert into unknown location during exfiltration. Social techniques utilized by Asset Azrael to minimize risk of discovery. Enemy contact made at 0919 hours. Target Cassiel injured. All enemy contacts eliminated with prejudice. Exfiltration completed at 1001 hours.” He paused. “Continue?”

 

Ren blinked. "Glen...?" What was wrong with him? Cassiel looked alarmed, too, staring at Glen in confusion.

 

But Verlel nodded to Glen. "Yes," she said. Her expression was perplexed; she was obviously more curious than concerned.

 

“Mission successful. Primary, secondary, tertiary objectives completed. Results of enemy contact fulfills tertiary objectives of primary mission. No fatalities to team. Secondary goals of secondary mission fulfilled as a result of mission events.”

 

Verlel raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

 

“Primary mission: elimination of Queen Temor, with installation of stable replacement. Renma is Mission Head, and assigner of mission. Primary objective: elimination of Queen Temor. Secondary objective: development of preventive measure against Temor's ability to drain life force from subjects. Tertiary objective: terror campaign against loyalist troops to assist in ease of primary objective and overall mission goals.”

“Secondary mission: Protection of Target Cassiel at all costs. Asset Azraek is Mission Head and assigner. Primary objective: physical protection from harm. Secondary objective: protection from emotional harm, and resolution of currently existing psychological problems by provision of a parental figure, as host society has failed to do so.”

 

Ren realized her mouth was open, and quickly closed it.

 

"Fascinating," said Verlel. "Explain why you refer to yourself as--"

 

" _ Stop that _ ," said Ren, scowling at Verlel. "Leave him alone, for gods' sake. Glen, are you alright? Glen?"

 

Glen blinked, and his entire body shuddered. “What?” he asked, expression and body language waterfalling back into place as swiftly as they had vanished.

 

"Are you alright?" Ren repeated. "What  _ was _ that?"

 

“That was me reporting,” Glen said quietly. “As ordered.” He shrugged. “I am an Operative of the Conclave of Shikan. We make sacrifices in order to be effective. Not all of them physical.” He rubbed his temples.

 

"Very interesting," said Verlel. "Do you respond to other orders with behavior like this?"

 

" _ Vel _ !"

 

"It would be useful to know," said Verlel, unmoved.

 

“Not everyone. Only the ones who are authorized.”

 

"Hmm." Verlel gave Glen a look Ren didn't like one bit, equal parts suspicious, calculating, and appreciative. "Well, so long as we don't have to worry about someone setting you off at the wrong time. We don't, do we?" Verlel arched an eyebrow.

 

“No,” Glen said. “Again, only authorized people can make it happen.”

 

"And who  _ is _ authorized? You responded to me, after all, and that started quite by chance."

 

Glen paused. “You. Renma. Renma primarily. Any of your lieutenants, in the event of your death. Anyone above me in my official chain of command, if by some miracle they show up.”

 

Ren felt deeply unsettled by this. She didn't want Glen to act that way, flat and clinical and without any light in his eyes. The idea that she could cause it -- possibly without even meaning to, just by saying the wrong thing -- made her feel ill.

 

Verlel didn't seem to share her compunctions. "That should not pose a problem, then, as Ren answers to me, and I assume your superiors remain in the universe you came from, yes?"

 

“Probably. They were likely caught in the same thing I was, that sent me bouncing across universes. Haven’t met them, but it’s a possibility.” He shrugged. “Tiny, but there.”

Glen folded his arms. “Anything else you need from me?”

 

Cassiel, looking pale and thin-lipped, slid out of his chair and latched on to Glen's arm, tugging at him. The sidelong look he gave Verlel made it very clear that he didn't  _ care _ if there was anything she wanted,  _ he _ wanted Glen to leave. Now.

 

"One thing, yes," said Verlel, noticing Cassiel. "Why do you call that boy Cassiel? And why do you seem to be under the impression that you need to look after him?"

 

“Can’t speak, asked if he wanted a name. It's the one he chose. And nobody else seems willing to do the job properly.” He stood.

 

"He  _ can _ speak, he just won't," said Verlel. "And he already has a guardian perfectly able and willing to take care of him, if he would stop running away from her." She sighed. "It’s understandable, if you know where he came from. The man who tried to assassinate Temor? That's his son, Daka."

 

Cassiel blinked at her, then slid out of sight behind Glen.

 

Glen shrugged. “I call him by the name he chose. And if your guardian was actually willing, I suspect he wouldn't be running away in the first place.”

 

Verlel leveled a look at Glen that was less than impressed. "You want to be responsible for him, go ahead. We'll see how long it lasts." She gave him no opportunity to answer, continuing on in a dismissive tone. "I have what I need, and other things to attend to. If you leave the warren again, please let me know first. You can find me in my office."

 

She left quickly.

 

Glen muttered several words of an obscene nature. “Sorry about that,” he said to Cassiel.  Cassiel shook his head, not looking up. Rather than take his seat again, he stayed standing beside Glen's chair, leaning against his shoulder.

 

Ren sighed, and joined them at the table. After a moment, Forem did too, setting Tild on his knee.

 

“Any progress?” Glen asked, nodding to Tild and his vest.

 

"Amazing progress for Tild, as you can see. As far as figuring out the spell… not really," Ren admitted. "I can't Sense past it, can't Sense the spell itself, and can't get a Weaving through it. Nothing, in short, that I didn't already know or guess."

 

“Damn. What happens to her if I turn it off?” Glen asked.

 

Good question. Ren watched Tild for a moment, trying to think of a better answer than the one she had. She couldn't. "We don't know unless we try it. It's blocking her connection with the court Bond, so without it, that might come back right away, or it might take time. Once it does, she'll be re-exposed to the drain, and I don't know how quickly  _ that _ will affect her either."

 

Glen paused. “Forem. Can we? If it lets Renma copy the spell?”

 

He wanted to say no. Ren could see it on his face. He drew Tild close, putting his arms around her protectively. But he didn't answer right away. He understood what his decision might mean.

 

"I really don’t think it will happen that fast," said Ren, in her most reassuring voice. "And regardless of when it does, I'll be watching. We'll make sure she's protected again before it can do her any harm."

 

Forem met her eyes -- the first time he'd done that, she realized -- and was quiet for a long moment, Finally he gave them a reluctant nod. "Alright," he said softly. "Just... don't let anything happen. I... I can't lose her."

 

Glen nodded, and stood again, removing the vest from around Tild quickly.

 

Tild blinked, but didn't react to the vest's removal beyond ordinary confusion as to what was going on.

 

Working quickly, he opened a tab at the top of the vest’s back, pulling out a sheet of dark metal. A single, complex design was carved into the plate, harsh lines that wove together into a daggerlike shape. He tapped a quick sequence with his fingers along the dagger-shape, then handed the plate to Ren.

 

Ren took it carefully. "What kind of metal?" she asked. Oh, this was going to be a trick and a half. The symbol could almost have been mancer work, although the elements were different from those of the, admittedly limited, mancer symbols she knew. How was she going to duplicate  _ that _ ?

 

Glen tapped it. “Adamant-B alloy. Not sure exactly what's in it, but it stops bullets and most light laser and plasma weapons effectively enough.”

 

"Is... the type of metal important to the spell, do you know? Because we don't have anything like that..."

 

“No. Steel, silver, copper, all work.”

 

Ren nodded. Time to see what this thing was made of. She refocused her vision, and looked again at the unfamiliar symbol.

With the concealment removed, the spell was almost painfully obvious, blazing brightly. Tendrils of shadow and light reached out from the design, still connected loosely to the rest of the vest. The brighter, stronger energies, ones that whispered of  _ shielding _ and  _ guarding _ , were closer in, almost part of the metal itself. The wisps of black and grey nearly concealed them, and they were silent, hard to see directly.

The rune itself, on the other hand,  _ burned _ with harsh, primeval light. It seemed almost primitive compared to some of the Workings she’d seen, but the raw structure of it was strangely elegant.

 

"This... this is incredible. This is what magic looks like in your world?" Ren put a hand out, fingers hovering inches from the strange, harsh magic, feeling its currents.

 

Glen shrugged. “I guess? Can't see it, myself. Runic work. Can you copy it?”

 

Ren frowned. "I'm... not sure. Maybe."

 

She glanced at Tild. Her Essence looked perfectly normal and healthy, but faint tendrils of energy were already reaching for her, the Bond trying to reestablish itself. When she turned back, Cassiel was next to her -- quick on his feet, that little guy -- examining the spell. Ren blinked.

 

" _ You _ can see it?" she asked, surprised.

 

He nodded without looking up.

 

“How is that surprising? You both work with magic.”

 

Ren shook her head. “Not the same kind.” She gave Cassiel a puzzled look. "Actually, I'm surprised you knew what to do with the wards at all. I didn't think children here started on magical studies until later."

 

Cassiel shrugged.

 

Hmm. Someone must have been working with him. But even so, they would have to have been a mancer, so it shouldn't make any difference. Well, maybe he was young enough to still have some sensitivity left anyway. Unusual, but it might not take much to see this particular spell. It was _ very _ bright.

 

She looked at Glen. "There are two aspects of the Sense," she explained. "The ability to see Essence, and the ability to manipulate it. If a child is going to develop the Sense, it will manifest around two or three years old, no later than four. But by six or so, the window for learning to use those abilities closes. After that, the visual aspect is lost, and the ability to influence Essence goes dormant. You can get the latter back by working with it later, but the seeing part is gone for good."

 

“Huh. Different for us. Magical talent shows up during adolescence.” Glen shrugged. “Regardless, think you can recreate it?”

 

"I can try." She checked Tild again. The Bond had anchored itself, and already she could see wisps of the girl's Essence trailing away. Tild didn't appear to feel it yet. "Let me find some paper and make notes. Then we should get Tild under cover again."

 

Forem's head came up sharply.

 

"She's alright," said Ren before he could panic too much. "We still have time."

 

He settled, but remained tense.

 

“Hurry.” Glen said quietly.

 

Ren nodded. She put the metal piece down -- Cassiel picked it up, staring at it in fascination -- and went to get supplies as quickly as she could.

 

She would make notes, so they could put the vest back on Tild. After that... she would just have to experiment. Easy enough to recreate the symbol itself. Complex though it appeared, she saw how the magic flowed through it. But she could only hope that tracing the same path would yield the same effect. If it didn't... Ren put that thought aside. She'd jump that gap when, or if, she came to it.


	10. The healer gets a visitor

Lady Grenmat, High Healer of Greenstone Court, Dame of the Bluestone, Beloved of the Court, Daughter of Etchkana's Line, and Blessed of Hearth Mother, stormed out of the Queen's chambers, hands knotted into fists under the sleeves of her healer’s robes. That colossal, arrogant, idiotic  _ bitch! _ Refusing to bring in healers from other courts? They were barely keeping track of the sick as it was, let alone having the numbers to put effort into finding a cure! Gods!

 

"I warned you she wouldn't be receptive," said Lord Sheshne, loitering in the anteroom as if he had real business there and hadn't waited around solely to point out to her that he had been right.

 

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “At least I made the attempt.”

 

He smiled thinly. "I would have made a better one on your behalf, had you left the matter with me to present to Her Majesty at the appropriate time."

 

“That reminds me. Any luck with your mysterious butcher?”

The way the bastard’s smile vanished almost made up for the rest of the day.

 

"Commander Kerrarin has his best men on it. It's only a matter of time."

 

“That's what we said about the sickness, too. Welcome to my world, Sheshne,” she said with a smile as she walked past him.

 

Thankfully he didn't follow her out. As soon as she was alone -- save for the guards, but they were everywhere, inescapable -- her shoulders slumped. She couldn't hang on to her anger; she was just too tired. She'd been in the ward most of the night, running herself and her healers ragged to make sure none of the children took a turn in the small hours. It seemed to be an especially critical time; even older children, usually more stable than the young ones, could drift into sleep and slip away without any warning. It was getting worse, too; they were getting new cases again, children as old as ten and eleven coming in listless and glassy-eyed.

 

Hence the need, now more than ever, for help of any kind, and why Grem refused to put the problem to that useless council for the dozenth time, and instead waited  _ hours _ for a personal audience with the queen. Not that that paranoid, self-serving  _ roach _ of a woman--  No. She wasn't going to keep making herself angry about this. It’d help nobody. What she was  _ going _ to do was go back to her chambers, brew herself a mug (or several) of tea, and try to get an hour's rest.

 

She made her way out of the royal tower under the ubiquitous watch of the Queen's Guard, relieved when she finally reached the gate. The guard there entreated her to wait for an escort, but she waved him off. She didn't have that far to go.   
  
She barely noticed the walk, passing through quiet, empty halls, her tired mind fixed firmly on thoughts of hot tea and much-needed sleep.

 

Her own chambers were small for someone of her rank, but more than adequate. She spent most of her time in the wards, even before the plague.

 

She had just set the kettle to boil when she heard something thud to the floor behind her.  Startled, she turned quickly. She yelped, flinching back.

 

A man swathed in a long brown coat stood there, watching her. “You Grenmat?” he asked.

 

Grem stared at the stranger. He didn't seem that old, but he was certainly worn, and those grey eyes looked older than the face they belonged to. He had a deformity, too; he was missing both horns. "Who are  _ you _ ? And what are you doing here?" she demanded. 

 

“To you? Nobody of importance. As for why I’m here….” the stranger pulled out a heavy canvas sack from under his coat. It should not have fit under the garment, but it did anyway. The stranger placed it on the ground, and three more sacks quickly joined it. “I came to deliver these,” he said. “They should stop the illness completely.”

 

Her mind went blank. Incoherent questions -- What... Who...  _ How? _ \-- bounced around her skull, but some part of her retained enough self-possession to step forward and reach, if a bit hesitantly, for one of the bags. She opened it. Inside were countless pendants made of bright steel, each inscribed with a sharp-edged, unfamiliar symbol.

 

"What are they?" she asked, cautiously picking one up.

 

“Runic work. Combination concealment and protection from magic.”

 

Blessed Goddess. Could that really...? "But, the sickness doesn't have a magical source. We've checked for that. None of them have so much as a hex on them..."

 

“No. But there's the Bond.”

 

“The… What are you  _ saying _ ? The Court Bond is making our children sick? Why? That doesn’t make sense.”

 

“It's not quite a sickness. More a drain,” the stranger said. “And if you don't believe me, ask Alona. She knows me.”

 

Grem blinked. She looked down at the pendants again. A drain, through the Bond? It couldn't be what it sounded like. It didn't work that way.  _ Gods. _ It couldn't.

 

It would be the height of foolishness to trust this man. But it would be just as foolish to refuse what could well be the cure she had been praying for. Alona. Grem's predecessor as High Healer, and someone she respected above almost anyone else. She  _ would _ talk to her. And if Alona thought it was safe to use the pendants... well, everything else could be sorted out later.

  
She nodded, turning the pendant over in her hand. When she looked up, the stranger had vanished


	11. Things are bestowed

The past few days had passed well. Better than expected, if he was being honest. The secondary  **[objective]** had been completed. Mancers, given their heads, could turn out spells like nobody's business. And not just for protection- no, they’d proven deft hands at making rifles, substituting magic for machinery. By the time his other opportunity presented itself, they’d have more than enough of the ancient weapons to arm every soldier they had.

 

And there were….other benefits.

 

"What did she say?" Renma asked him, looking up and smiling as he returned to the central room of the warren. Cassiel jumped up, abandoning whatever magic exercise Renma appeared to be trying to teach him, and ran up to Glen, latching onto his arm with a grin. The boy always ran to him when he came in, even if he'd only been gone five minutes.

 

“Not much. But she’ll put them to use,” he said. “Bugged her clothing, she was trying to get support from other courts to deal with the drain. Asked Queen for permission, so you can guess how well that went.” He shrugged. “She’ll take what she can get.”

He patted Cassiel on the shoulder. “How’s the magic going?”

 

Cassiel shrugged, nodded, made a vague gesture with his hand.

 

Renma failed to hide a smile. "He gets points for creativity," she said.

 

Glen felt himself smile. “Better than nothing.” He looked at Ren. “Mind if I steal your student for a bit?”

 

She laughed softly, watching the way Cassiel looked up at Glen. Admittedly, she would probably have had a hard time regaining the boy's attention. "He's all yours."

 

“Excellent. Come on.”

Glen made his way through the labyrinth of the Warren to the small room he’d claimed for himself. It hadn't taken long for him to fit and install an actual door, something the Demeki didn't seem to have the concept of. He ushered Cassiel in, then closed the door behind them. He claimed the one chair, Cassiel the bed.

“You know where I'm headed off to, tonight,” he said. Back into danger, but finishing the biggest part of the  **[tertiary objective].** Real danger, not the scuffles from before.

 

Cassiel's shoulders fell, and a faint frown line appeared between his eyes. He nodded slowly.

 

“I should get through it fine, but….things happen. And….I don't want to leave you without anything.” He reached into his coat, found a familiar shape he hadn't touched for years. He pulled it out. 

Johan's knife, the twin of his own but for the design burned into the hilt. His own displayed the left side of an angel, carrying a shield. Johan's was the opposite side, holding a sword. The blade was sheathed, straps wrapped around it. 

 

_ [Remember] _

_ [Mission failure] _

_ [Prevent recurrence] _

 

He handed it to Cassiel. “This used to belong to my partner,” he said softly. 

 

Cassiel took it very carefully. He held it in both hands, studying the design for a long moment. One finger gently traced the hard, straight line of the sword. He looked up, solemn, and tipped his head just a little, inviting further explanation but not demanding it.

 

Telling the story would hurt. But wounds healed. And someone needed to hear it. He sighed. “Johan Alvarez,” he said. “Operatives….we’re supposed to work in pairs. One to do a specialized job, the other to keep the specialist safe. He was the specialist. For assassinations and rebellions. He arranged contacts, weapons shipments, convinced people to do what he said. I kept his hide in one piece, and sometimes served as a….troubleshooter.”

There had been parts that weren't good, early on. Too many losses already, his mind given tunnel vision by paroxitanine. Not caring what harm he did, so long as the job was done.  But Cassiel only watched him, accepting his words with unassuming acknowledgement.  Would he still do that, if he knew what he had done? Ten years of mindless sinning was something difficult to atone for.

_ [Focus.] _

“There was a war. A long one. We were just about to end it, everyone working together, a fleet thousands of ships strong, and then….” He waved an arm. “White light. When it cleared, Johan and I were in another world. Another universe.”

He paused. “We tried to help the locals. Found some others from our home, worked together. They….didn’t make it. Just me and Johan left, when they tried to send us back home.” His hands gripped the chair’s armrests, knuckles white. “Something went wrong. He...didn't make it. Injured too badly. And I….I was alone.”

The look in Cassiel's eyes was one of sharply felt understanding. The boy sighed, and nodded sadly. 

“After that, I wandered. Dozens of worlds. Each one, I found a way to move to another. I….don’t know what I was looking for. Maybe a way home, maybe a quick death. Either looked attractive. Until I found myself at the Crossroads Inn.”

Cassiel tipped his head, curious.

“It's what it sounds like, an inn that's a crossroads between universes. Seems inevitable I would stumble on it sooner or later. It was where Ren found me. Gave me a mission. A purpose.” He sighed. “You know the rest, I suppose.”

_ [He should. He heard the report.] _

**[Dislike]**

_ [Reports, or him hearing?] _

**[Both and the woman]**

_ [Now that's unfair. Renma has been perfectly delightful and you know it.] _

**[Not her]**

He shut out their mental argument with a grimace. They'd been more active than usual as of late, his other halves.

 

Cassiel watched him for a moment. Then he slipped down off the bed, gently set the sheathed kukri down where he'd been sitting, and came over to Glen. He paused a moment, then climbed up in Glen's lap a put his arms around his neck, hugging him tight. One little hand patted Glen's back.

 

Glen returned the hug. “....thank you,” he said, voice soft. “But there's one last thing I need to tell you.”

 

The boy sat up so he could look at Glen, and tipped his head in his by-now-familiar 'question' pose.

 

“Operatives….the best of us, we’re given codenames. Based off of angelic names. Mine is Azrael. Johan's….his was Cassiel.”

 

Cassiel blinked. Then he pointed hesitantly to himself.

 

“You can see why I thought it odd, that you chose that name and that blade,” Glen said. “It might be fate, or just an oddity of universes.”

 

Cassiel nodded slowly. He put his hand on Glen's chest, over his heart, and then on his own. Well, guess that made clear the boy's take on it; he, it seemed, believed in fate.

 

He chuckled. “If you say so,” he said with a grin. “Now we're even- we both know why we're broken people.”

Though he’d been broken before that. Made anew and broken again. 

**[Have us now]**

_ [Recovery possible.] _

“Now, the blade.”

 

The boy got down and went to retrieve the knife, bringing it back to Glen.

 

He took it carefully, weighing it in his hands. “I hope I’ve drilled it into you enough for you to not treat it lightly. Don't lay a hand on it unless you intend to draw it, and don't draw it unless your life is on the line. The blade’s adamant-A alloy. The same stuff they armor battleships in, and it’ll cut through just about anything. Armor, wood, rock. Flesh and bone. So respect it, understood?”

 

A very serious expression met these instructions, and Cassiel nodded.

 

He handed it back. “Then take this blade, and strive to use it well.”

 

Cassiel accepted the knife with wide eyes. He looked at it, then back at Glen, as if unsure if he was really meant to take it.

 

“You know when  _ not _ to use it, and that's more than most men with knives will ever learn. So yes, it's yours.”

 

Cassiel set aside the wooden practice knife and reverently put Johan's blade on in its place. It hung at his hip like a small sword, but he'd grow into it. Eventually.

 

He looked up at Glen, still with a question in his eyes.

 

“He’d want someone to find a use for it,” he said, answering that unspoken query. “Not sitting in my coat, gathering dust.”

 

After a moment, Cassiel nodded again, accepting that.


	12. Do not try this at home children

He wasn't back. _Why wasn't he back?_ It was _hours_ past when Glen should have returned, and Cassiel felt ready to burst.

 

"Stay here," Glen had said. "I'll be back soon."

 

(Wait here. I'll come back for you.)

 

Cassiel had stayed. Why had he stayed? He knew better! No matter what Glen said. 

 

Something was wrong, something bad had happened. What if... (I'll come back) What if…

 

"Cassiel?" Cassiel looked up sharply. Renma read his face, and shook her head. "No, I haven't seen him yet. But don't worry. He's alright. I'm sure he is. He... there are a lot more patrols now. Probably he just had to lay low somewhere, until it was safe to come back." Her words were so unconvincing, even she didn't seem to believe them. Cassiel frowned at her.

 

She sighed. "Come on, huh? Let's go see if anyone's heard anything."

 

He got up, abandoning his fruitless vigil outside Glen's door, and followed her. She tried to put a hand on his back, but he ducked away, picking up his pace to get ahead of her. He led the way back to the main room of the warren. When they got there, Temne was just leaving. He doubled back to talk to Renma.

 

"Have you seen Verlel? She's not in her office."

 

"No. Why?" Renma narrowed her eyes. "You know something, don't you? About Glen? What is it?"

 

Temne fidgeted. Cassiel knew that fidget. It was an 'I don't want to answer that' fidget. "I should talk to Verlel first," he said.

 

Renma's tail lashed. "Temne..." she said, a warning note in her voice.

 

“I saw Glen,” Temne blurted out. “They took him. He….oh gods, he killed every single one of the guards in the barracks, but the rest arrived, and he was already hurt. Took a dozen with him, but they clubbed him over the head and dragged him off.”

His tail drooped. “Last I heard, the Queen was 'interested’ in him.”

 

Cassiel stood frozen. No... No, no, no! They had to do something!

 

"When?" said Renma. "How long ago was this? And do you know where they took him?"

 

Yes, thought Cassiel. Where was he? They would go get him!

 

“Last night, but I heard he wasn't dead only an hour ago. I had to hide from the guards for most of it. And I can only assume he's in the dungeons.”

 

Renma nodded. "Alright. You go find Cor, tell him what's happened. And find Talis, tell him to get some of those rifles ready."

 

"But... Verlel--"

 

"Has to be down here somewhere," said Renma. "I'll find her."

 

Temne looked doubtful. "We need to talk to Verlel  _ first _ ," he insisted.

 

"If I can find her before you get back, then we will. With people and weapons ready to hand."

 

"But--"

 

"Look, I'm not telling anybody what to do--"

 

"You're telling me what to do..."

 

"--but we have to do  _ something _ , and I can't do it by myself. I'll take who I can find and use what I can get. So help me out here, huh? Besides, Verlel can't leave the warren now any more than I can. She can't be far. I'll find her."

 

Temne hesitated a moment longer, but finally nodded. As he left, Renma turned to Cassiel.

 

"Come on," she said. "Let's go find Vel."

 

Cassiel shook his head. He pointed to the floor.  _ I'll stay here. _

 

"Oh, no. I'm not leaving you on your own. You're coming with me."

 

Another head shake.  _ No I'm not. _

 

" _ Cassiel _ ..."

 

Cassiel sat down right where he was, plopping on the floor in the middle of the room.  _ Make me. _

 

Renma crouched in front of him. "I leave you alone, you'll take off. I know you will. Cassiel, you  _ cannot  _ go after Glen alone. It's too dangerous. He's going to be okay, and we're going to get him back. I promise. But we need to do it carefully. If we go down there blind and alone, we'll get caught too, and that won't do him any good."

 

Cassiel nodded solemnly.  _ I understand. _ He didn't get up. He pointed to himself, then to the floor.  _ I'll stay right here. _

 

"Why?"

 

He drew a V in the air, and shook his head.

 

"I know you don't like Verlel, but I have to go get her. She needs to know what's going on."

 

Cassiel made a shooing motion, then pointed to himself and the floor again.  _ You go, I'll stay. _

 

Renma sighed. "Alright. Alright, fine. But don't go anywhere." She stared hard at him and repeated it. "Do. Not. Go.  _ Anywhere. _ Understand?"

 

He nodded.

 

She stood up. "Promise?"

 

He put a hand over his heart. It was wrong to make a promise he already knew he was going to break. But he had no choice. Glen  _ needed _ him. He’d already waited too long. He couldn’t wait around until the adults were ready. Who knew when that would be? He had to go  _ right now _ . He looked up at Renma calmly, willing her to leave but hiding his impatience.

 

She watched him for a long moment, sighed again, and left. Cassiel waited until he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore. Then he waited as long again. Then he got up and headed into the tunnels.

 

The dungeons were not connected to any of the other tunnel systems, so Cassiel had to go up into the Underhalls, then up again into the castle, and on through the castle to the north wing. But he had no trouble; he was small and fast and good at getting around without being noticed. That had always been his advantage. He reached the entrance to the dungeons unimpeded, slipped past the guard there without the man even realizing, and crept down the tight, spiral stairwell.

 

The place smelled of blood, and tears, and pain. Worked stones provided dim light, just enough to illuminate the harsh devices placed on and along the walls. They weren't in use, but dark stains on them indicated they had been. 

There was brighter light up ahead, a t-shaped rack set up, casting a shadow. He could see someone strapped into it, but the shadows kept him from seeing more than the general shape.

 

He approached slowly, edged along the wall until he could see who it was. He was afraid that it wouldn't be Glen, but more afraid that it would be, because the figure wasn't moving.

 

Glen  _ was _ on the rack, head leaning forward, unconscious. He’d been stripped to the waist, and Cassiel could see old burn scars, covering nearly his entire right side, stretching across his torso and down his right arm. More old scars covered the rest of him, and fresh cuts as well, some still trickling blood.

 

Cassiel ran to Glen, wanting to call his name but with no voice to do it. He reached for him, then stopped, afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him. Yet he knew he had to get him down somehow. He drew his knife, and started by cutting the straps holding Glen's ankles. The blade sliced easily through the thick leather and even nicked the wood underneath, making Cassiel glad he had cut from the side and nowhere near Glen's leg.

 

Glen groaned softly, opening his eyes. “Cassiel?” he rasped. “What are you…”

 

Relief washed through Cassiel. Glen was awake! He pointed to himself, then to Glen, then up at the ceiling, trying to indicate that he had come to help Glen get out of here.

 

“Alone?” Glen asked. “Cassiel….” He sighed. “Can you get my arms?”

 

Cassiel stood. He could just reach the crossbar of the rack if he stretched, and he sliced at the back where the straps wrapped around the wood. Again the leather parted easily, the strap falling to the floor. He quickly freed Glen's other arm, too.

 

Glen fell to all fours, breathing heavily, before he stood shakily, leaning on the rack for support. “All right,” he rasped. “We need to find my gear, first and foremost. Then we run for it. Any idea where they’d put it?”

 

Cassiel shrugged. He looked around the room, but the light didn't penetrate the shadows around the edges, and he couldn't make out much. He pointed back the way he'd come, and shook his head. All he knew for sure was that he hadn't seen any of Glen's stuff on his way in.

 

Glen nodded. “Okay. There's got to be cells the other way. Come on.” He limped onward.  Cassiel followed, sticking close. He had put his knife back in its sheath, but he kept his hand close to it. This place made his skin crawl.

 

There was a gate closing off the other entrance they came across, a narrow hallway visible behind the bars. It was unlocked, and swung open with a shriek of rust as Glen put his weight into it.

Small, barred cells lined the hallway, with another gate at the far end, a privacy wall obscuring the view of the room. Glen nodded to it. “That seem like it?”

 

Cassiel shrugged again. He had no clue what to expect down here.

 

Glen limped along, sometimes stopping to hold onto the bars of one cell or another for support, before he reached the gate. He shook it. Locked.

 

Remembering that Glen had told him their blades could cut through metal, Cassiel drew his knife and looked at Glen for confirmation, still unsure that that was actually possible.

 

Glen nodded.

 

Cassiel slashed at the bars above the lock, fighting the urge to check the blow before it hit. Somewhat to his surprise, it worked, the blade biting into the gate like it was made of pudding instead of iron. He cut the bars below the lock, too, and the whole lock fell free.

 

Glen pushed it open, nodding. “Nice work.”

 

Cassiel beamed.

 

Behind the privacy wall was a small office- desk, chair, and a wall of lockers and trunks. Glen opened the closest one, and found his jacket, vest, and shirt inside. He let out a breath, then began to dress, moving slowly and painfully.

Some of his wounds that had scabbed over had broken open, bleeding again. And judging by the purple-black stain surrounding the tear in his blue trousers, it wasn't just his upper body that had been hurt.

 

Hesitantly, Cassiel gently caught hold of Glen's sleeve. When Glen looked down, Cassiel pointed out the wounds, then pointed to himself, and held his hand out toward the injuries. He didn't, in all honestly, know that he could help. But he would try, if Glen would let him.

 

Glen shook his head. “Would tire you, and I’m hurt too bad for it to work right now. Need one of us functional,” he said. He reached into his coat, and pulled out a cane, leaning on it heavily. “I’ll be alright,” he said as they started out of the dungeon.

 

If he had been more sure of himself, Cassiel would have tried to insist. But the only things he'd ever seen the healers treat were his own minor cuts and scrapes, and although he had watched them and knew -- better than they did, really, since they couldn't see it -- how the not-seen moved around their hands as they worked, he wasn't sure if it would be quite the same thing, dealing with injuries like Glen's. So he didn't argue.

 

They climbed the spiral staircase slowly, before they heard voices and footsteps, people descending. Glen drew his knife. His shoulders went back, and he straightened, no longer leaning on the cane. “I’m going to get scary now, alright?” he said softly.

 

Scary? What-- oh. Like in the hallway, when Cassiel got himself caught by the guards. Cassiel nodded. He understood. He didn't like it, the idea of a fight, especially when Glen had been limping and leaning on the cane just seconds before, but he understood.

 

Three of the Queen's Guard, one with even fancier armor than usual, rounded the spiral, and Glen moved, a rictus grin on his face. The cane’s head smashed in the throat of the guard on the left, while the knife cut down the one on the right. The fancily armored man’s hand was halfway to his sword when Glen slammed him face-first into the stairwell wall. The snap of the man’s nose breaking was audible.

Glen let him drop, panting. “Please tell me that's all of them,” he said, leaning back on the cane again.

Shouting from upstairs.

Glen said something Cassiel strongly suspected he shouldn't have been allowed to hear.


	13. Injuries happen offscreen

Ren paced from person to person, urging them to hurry. It earned her no love, as everyone was already moving as quickly as they could, but she was too agitated and impatient to care. She cursed herself for a fool. Why had she thought for even a moment that she could leave Cassiel alone? Worse, the boy had probably been right not to wait. Time was slipping away. Who knew what might happen to Glen? What might  _ already _ have happened? And now Cassiel was in danger, too, and Ren was  _ still here _ , waiting on the others...

 

She opened her mouth to pester Cor again. He glanced at her, and she bit her tongue. He went back to checking the rifle Talis had given him.

 

Ren held back a sigh. She was becoming increasingly convinced that she should just leave them all behind and  _ go _ .

 

A shrieking, high-pitched warble came from the tunnel entrance. The first of the defensive wards, a warning only.

 

Ren was out the door, headed toward the tunnel the alarm was coming from, before anyone else could move.  She barely paused to say the words to let her through the wards herself as she ran down the tunnel.

Glen lay on his side, collapsed just inside the tunnel entrance, cradling Cassiel. Blood pooled beneath them both.

 

She ran to them, already shifting her perception to her Sense. A sharp, red haze of  _ injury _ radiated off of Cassiel, centered on his chest, a long, ragged slash across his left ribs . She couldn't see Glen's Essence past his vest, but she didn't need to. Cuts and tears striped his arms and legs, a deep slash along the side of his neck, a pair of broken-off crossbow bolts in his upper right arm, and  _ half a spear haft _ in his gut. And that was just what was visible from behind his long coat and vest, both covered in blood.

Glen looked up at her, rasping for breath. “Ren…?” he wheezed.

 

"Right here," she said. "It's alright. You'll be alright..." Someone had reset the ward, sharp silence descending in its wake. She heard Cor behind her, sending someone to find a healer.

 

“Heh. Lived through….worse. Help….Cassiel.” He moved slowly, trying to hand the boy to her.

 

"Don't move," she said quickly, some of her panic showing through in her tone, though she tried to hide it. "You have a spear through you, for allgods sake!" She carefully eased Cassiel out of Glen's arms and into her own.

 

Through the tear in Cassiel's tunic, she could see the gash across his ribs. It was deep, showing bone in places, and bleeding heavily. He was unconscious. The blood loss, undoubtedly.

 

Cassiel's breathing was quick and shallow, his Essence thin. She was no healer, but she had to do something. He didn't stir as she laid a hand gently over the wound. She felt the hum of magic in her horns, felt her hand grow warm, as she fed her own energy straight into the wound. Raw and undirected, it would have been enough for minor injuries; she didn't know if it could help here, but it was the only healing she knew how to do.

 

A thin covering of new skin gradually grew over the wound, sealing it off, but the gash was still mostly there, red and angry even if it was no longer bleeding.

 

From down the tunnel, Ren heard the sound of rapid footsteps. She looked up just as the healer arrived. He went right to Glen, kneeling beside him as Ren moved over to give him room to work.

 

The healer swore, then pointed to Ren. “Help me with his coat,” he snapped. “Then the vest. Spear’s wedged between the plates, can't heal him until it's gone.”

 

Ren didn't bother to explain that the vest was a problem for other reasons; it was coming off anyway, so it didn't matter. She passed Cassiel to Cor -- he didn't wake -- then hurried to help the healer with Glen's coat. Her hands shook, but she could hide it if she kept them moving.

 

The coat caught briefly on the crossbow bolts, the heads still in Glen’s arm and shoulder, before they managed to remove it. The healer nodded to her, then pointed to the spear. “Pressure, here. Will have to pull the spear out. Can't have him bleeding out before I can lay hands on him.”

Glen shook his head as the healer started looking for buttons.

“Don't move, you’ll-”

“Tab, center neck, pull down,” Glen rasped, and the healer paused, then complied. The tab pulled down the center of the vest, dividing it in two. Small metal teeth poked out the divided sides. The black shirt underneath was slick with blood.

The healer managed to get Glen's arm through the right side, then nodded to Ren. “Pressure,” he repeated, reaching for the spearhaft.

When she placed her hands around the wound, the man pulled the spear free in one smooth motion. Blood welled from the wound, but not much. The healer removed the vest entirely, tossing it aside, and  placed his hands over Ren's. He began to recite a series of incantations in an even, steady voice. Ren only recognized one word in five, but she could Sense for herself what the spells were doing. Red  _ bleeding _ slowed and stopped, ragged  _ torn _ gradually mended, and hot white  _ pain _ receded. The spells drew most of their energy from the healer, but Ren realized some of it was coming from Glen, too. She stopped that flow, and gave her own energy instead. The healer glanced at her as her hands grew warm under his, but didn't stop his incantation.

 

The wound slowly healed, pierced skin knitting together. When the healer took his hands away and indicated that Ren could, too, the wound was red and raw but firmly closed.

 

Glen let out a breath, letting his head rest on the floor and closing his eyes. His Essence calmed into the quieter patterns of unconsciousness.

 

“We'll have to deal with the rest back inside, but that should keep him alive until then,” the healer said wearily.

  
Ren nodded. She looked up, but Cor was already there with a handful of others to help lift Glen and carry him in. She scooped Cassiel up, only to find she could barely hold on to him, and didn't have the strength to stand up with the boy in her arms. She'd given too much energy to the healings, and sapped her strength. One of the others took Cassiel from her. Ren got shakily to her feet, and followed the little band back into the warren.


	14. Poor poor random Mook leader

Kerranin resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. The healers were too swamped to handle a broken nose under normal circumstances, not even considering the few of his Guardsmen who had been unlucky enough to be 'just’ wounded. He took a deep breath instead.

“Let me see if I understand what you are saying correctly,” he said slowly.

“The traitors have some sort of…. _creature_ under their control. It _tore_ through our barracks, _killed_ half our men before we took it down for interrogation. Then, a _small child_ managed to free it again, where it, despite the _numerous_ _crippling injuries_ we inflicted on it in the process, proceeded to fight its way out, killing most of the _remaining_ Guard in the process. And, to top off this display of _stunning_ incompetence from _my own troops_ , despite the fact that this _creature_ has a spear through it’s gut, two quarrels in its arm, and a hundred other wounds besides, _and_ has been leaking blood like a rusted pipe, not _one_ of you has managed to find a trail that is trackable.”

 

The guardsman made a helpless gesture. "I'm sorry, sir. We can only assume there's magic involved. There are  _ some _ signs of his passage, but... but they don't add up, and they don't lead anywhere."

 

Kerranin began to rub his temples. The headache had started when he'd gotten the news about the barracks, and being rammed nose-first into a wall  _ had not helped. _ He pointed at another guardsman. “What's our headcount?”

 

“Forty-six still whole. Around twenty walking wounded. Twelve crippled, another twenty or so being worked on by the healers.”

 

Eighty. Out of  _ five hundred. _ Maybe a hundred in a week or so, but he wasn't optimistic. Some of the ones in the healer’s wards wouldn't make it.

 

Maybe that  _ thing _ actually had been an ava….no, he was not going to start believing in old legends. Judging from the way it had shrugged off magic, either it or its clothes were heavily enchanted. And….concealed somehow. Even there was no possible way to hide enough enchantments that would be powerful enough to have that kind of effect….

Okay, maybe it had been an ava.

 

"And... uh..."

 

“ _ What.” _

 

“The weapons the attacker dropped….kind of….melted. We think they were enchanted so that only it could use them.”

  
Kerranin growled. “Wonderful.”


	15. Glen has wolves inside his head

Things were  **bad** , not the  **brokenhomefirepainofheart** bad, but  **bloodhurtinjury** bad. The  **master** lived,  **stubborn** as He was, but it had been close. Too close. 

This **place** was not true, not real, but in the **master’s** mind, a taught construct after the **Remaking**. The **master** sat between the **Anathema’s** white and **his** own **black**. Quiet bland order versus **wondrous chaos.** **He** padded close to the master, and the **Anathema** did the same, both of them laying down close to Him **shelterprotectguard** ing Him. A hand stroked through **his** fur, calming both.

The master was  **happyjoyouscontent** , a  **mission** and something to  **protect** keeping him  **stable** . Much improved in only a few days. Even a  **friendmatecompanion,** to assist in  **protecting.** Even with  **injury** , he was not harmed.

Not as the  **Failure** had harmed him.

**He** rumbled peacefully, putting his head in the  **master's** lap. Blunt fingers scratched under his chin, and the  **master** chuckled.

“Ya big doof,” the  **master** said, continuing  **scratching** . “You're just happy I let you run free, aren't ya?”

**True. Fightingbloodconflict** had been  **enjoyable.** Not as much as  **chin scratches** and  **contentmaster** , though.  **He** sent this to the  **master.**

The scratches  **intensified** .

**Good.**


	16. Cassiel gets in a fight

Cassiel didn't remember getting back to the warren. He remembered the chaos before. Guards and flashing blades, screams and blood and men falling. Glen fought, but he was hurt and it slowed him down, and then he got hurt even worse. Cassiel fought, too. Then there had been pain... and Glen picking him up... and then nothing, until he woke up in the warren's sick ward with a bandage around his chest and an awful itching sensation underneath.

 

Glen was there, too, but he didn’t wake up. He'd been hurt bad. Even though the not-seen -- what Renma called Essence -- had echoes in it of healing that had already been done, Glen was still bandaged all over, and his not-seen had a sharp, metallic feeling about it like the taste of blood. The strange layers Glen’s not-seen had seemed different, too. They bled into each other more than they had before, so much so that they almost became a single whole.

 

When Renma, who was sitting in a chair between Cassiel's bed and Glen's, saw that Cassiel was awake, she got all teary and kept hugging him. It seemed to make her feel better, though, so he let her. The healer came in, and when he saw Cassiel awake, he made him drink something thick and mucky and bitter herb-tasting that made him gag. But then he took the bandage off and Cassiel found out what the itching was: a thick red line across his chest on the left side. He rubbed at it, and the healer scolded him and put some kind of salve on it and bandaged it again. Then he kicked both Renma and Cassiel out of the sick ward, with instructions to Renma about what Cassiel was and wasn't allowed to do. (Sleeping: yes. Everything else: no.)

 

That was yesterday, and since then Cassiel had only been allowed to visit Glen once, and not for very long. Renma wasn't allowed to stay very long either, but she could go more often, which was supremely unfair. But there was no arguing with the healer. Even Renma couldn't talk her way past him.

 

So now here he was, sitting in his room trying to read and not doing a very good job of it because all he could really think about was that he'd rather be sitting with Glen. He sighed, and put the tablet down. He was tired of sitting, and tired of waiting and of worrying.

 

After a moment's deliberation, he climbed out of bed and went to the doorway, twitching the curtain aside and peering out into the hall. It was empty, so he slipped out.

 

He would just go to the sick ward and  _ see _ . Maybe the healer would let him in. Or simply not notice if Cassiel came in very quietly. Or snuck in very quietly. While the healer wasn't looking.

 

As he turned the next corner, he stopped. The passage was deserted, save for two familiar and very unwelcome people. He turned to double back, but it was too late.

 

“Looks like your pet monster isn't around to baby you, huh?” Tabbit said, grinning unpleasantly. “Heard he got hurt because you were too  _ slow _ to help him.”

 

Cassiel slowed, wanting to leave but knowing they would probably just follow him if he did.

 

“What sort of nut gives someone like him a knife? Oh, right,” Kedta said, a grin identical to Tabbit’s on his face. “Poor baby Daka, the only one who wants anything to do with him is the crazy freak.”

 

Cassiel narrowed his eyes, and his tail lashed angrily behind him. He turned to face them, curling his hands into fists at his sides. Glen was  _ not _ crazy, and he was  _ not _ a freak, and Cassiel was going to find a way to tell them so. He shook his head, slow and deliberate.

 

“Oh? You found someone else who can actually tolerate being next to you? How cute.” Tabbit's eyes glittered dangerously. “They’ll probably get tired of you and leave soon enough. Just like the rest.”

 

That wasn't what he meant! Tabbit probably knew it, too. He shook his head again, frustrated.

 

“Maybe if you  _ told _ them you wanted them to stay, then they would,” Kedta said, both of them beginning to walk closer.

 

That didn't... He wasn't... Cassiel frowned, taking a step back as they advanced.

 

“Maybe all of them are freaks. Like calls to like,” Tabbit said, and Kedta nodded solemnly. “Makes sense.”

 

They were messing with him. That was the  _ whole point _ , and he knew that. But it still made him angry. Why did they have to  _ be  _ like this? He stepped forward again, glowering at them both.

 

“What  _ say  _ you? Tell us you're not a freak.” Tabbit was grinning smugly as he stepped forward to shove Cassiel.

 

Cassiel brought his fists up and into Tabbit's forearms, knocking the other boy’s hands up and away before he could even touch Cassiel. Tabbit, expecting resistance to throw his weight against and suddenly denied it, stumbled forward as Cassiel sidestepped neatly out of his path.

 

“Hey!” Kedta snarled, stepping forward and swinging a fist at him.

 

Cassiel dodged that, too -- after sparring with Glen, these boys seemed ridiculously slow -- and returned the swing, slamming a fist into Kedta's stomach. He felt a burn in his chest as he twisted, but it was not enough to deter him.

 

Kedta folded like wet paper, clutching his stomach, and the fading sound of feet hitting stone meant Tabbit had decided to run.

 

Slowly, Cassiel stepped back. Part of him felt triumphant;  _ finally _ he had been able to fight back, really fight back, and he had not been the one to walk away bruised afterward! But he also knew that Kedta was going to tell on him now, and that he would paint Cassiel as the aggressor. Cassiel wouldn't be able to deny it, and he wouldn't be able to explain why he'd done it. This was going to be nothing but trouble. And although he didn't think Tabbit would approach him again anytime soon, Kedta, he knew, was not going to let this go. Cassiel sighed, rubbing at the burning feeling under his bandages.

 

Kedta slowly sat up, gritting his teeth, and threw Cassiel a baleful look, confirming Cassiel's expectations rather plainly. Cassiel decided it was high time he got out of there, and stepped around Kedta, leaving him behind and heading for the sick ward.

 

Slipping inside was easy enough. The healer was nowhere to be seen, but Glen was still on his cot, breaths slow and even.  He seemed about the same as he had before, but Cassiel wanted to be sure Glen was really okay. He shifted his focus to the not-seen, and looked again.

 

The layers had separated again, back to the confusing and eye-hurting arrangement they had been before. It was moving more, less calm--

It spiked suddenly, and Glen opened his eyes.

 

Cassiel started in surprise, then smiled and grabbed Glen's hand, squeezing it to let Glen know he was there.

 

Glen winced as he turned his head, but he squeezed back. “How long was I out?”

 

Cassiel held up two fingers.

 

“Huh. Two days. Could’ve been worse,” he said. “You doing alright?” He nodded to the bandage on Cassiel's chest. “Don't…..remember most of what happened, exactly. How bad was it?”

 

One hand drifted automatically to his chest, rubbing at it again. He nodded in answer to the first question, then bit his lip and winced in answer to the second. Then he shrugged. It was over now, and Glen was awake, and everything was going to be okay again.

 

Glen sat up slowly, wincing again. “Where'd they put my clothes?”

 

"Who's in here?" The healer appeared in the entryway. When he saw Glen sitting up, his eyes went wide. "You're  _ awake _ ?!" He was beside Glen's cot in an instant. "In Hearth Mother's name, man, lie down! What are you trying to do? You should  _ not _ be moving around."

 

“Not Demeki,” Glen retorted. “And stronger than most humans anyway.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Now, either find me my clothes or deal with the full frontal I’ll end up giving the warren if you don't.”

 

The healer looked ready to argue, but Cassiel knew where to look because his own things had been kept in the same place. He grinned and ducked past the healer to drag a basket out from under Glen's cot. Sure enough, Glen’s clothes were inside, clean and repaired, even the vest. The only thing missing was his long coat.

 

Glen grinned, and dressed himself quickly. “My coat?” he asked.

 

"Your friend took it," said the healer, standing with his arms crossed and a very unhappy expression on his face. "Renma. And let me just say that, 'human' or not, you are  _ not _ recovered and you should  _ not _ be up. Tell me you aren't going to insist on walking out of here anyway?"

 

Cassiel found himself torn between worrying about Glen hurting himself, and gleeful enjoyment of seeing the healer, after his refusal to let Cassiel in to visit Glen, thoroughly ignored. He bit his tongue to hide his grin, but at the same time he was watching Glen closely. 

 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I am,” Glen said, standing. “Got things to do.”

 

The healer dug deep, and managed to intensify his scowl. "Fine," he said, practically growling. "But don't blame me when you drop in a passage somewhere because you've torn something and you're bleeding internally."

 

“I won't,” Glen said cheerfully.

 

It wasn't the response the healer had been hoping for, clearly. He closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head and sighed. Without further argument, he left, muttering quietly under his breath.

 

Glen shrugged. “So, to Ren’s then? I’d very much like my coat back.”

 

Cassiel nodded.

 

Finding Ren’s room wasn't all that difficult, even if Glen moved a bit slower than usual. Glen reached out a hand to the curtain, then paused in confusion before removing it. “Bloody hell, keep forgetting nobody here has heard of a proper door,” he muttered.

 

Realizing Glen didn't know how to announce himself, Cassiel clapped his hands together twice, with cupped palms to make a kind of hollow sound. A moment later, Renma pulled the curtain aside, looking a bit confused that anyone would be calling on her. Then she saw Glen and her face lit up.

 

"Glen! You're awake! Are you alright? I'm so glad to see you up! Should you  _ be _ up? And I know  _ you _ shouldn't," she added, spotting Cassiel. She stepped back as she spoke, gesturing for them to come in. "Sit down, at least. Are you really alright?"

 

Glen found himself a chair. “Not up to my usual standards for fighting, but I’m fine otherwise. Hurts like hell, but nothing I haven't felt before.”

 

Renma frowned. "Didn't the healer give you something for pain?" She sat down on the bed. She patted the spot beside her, so Cassiel sat down too. He batted her hand away when she tried to ruffle his hair, though; only Glen was allowed to do that.

 

Glen snorted. “He doesn't think I should even be awake right now. I’ll manage.” He shrugged. “You have my coat?”

 

"Mm? Oh. It's in your room. They were taking your clothes to wash and mend them, but there's something... weird about that coat, I'm sure I don't have to tell you. I didn't think anyone should mess with it, so I took it before they could try. I did fix the worst tears myself, and got most of the blood out. It at least doesn't look like you were murdered in it anymore." She smiled wryly.

 

Glen grinned in response. “Thanks for that.” He sank into the chair with a sigh. “Don't much like the idea of others getting ahold of it. Things could go wrong if they started poking about in it.” He shook his head. “Any word about the court? I remember….mostly running and killing. Not sure how bad it was.”

 

Renma got a funny look on her face. Cassiel frowned, wondering what was wrong with her.

 

"Well..." she said. "You, um. You were... very successful. We haven't been able to get exact numbers, but what we've picked up so far is that the Queen's Guard stands at somewhere around... erm... a hundred. Maybe less. Definitely not more."

 

Glen let out a low whistle.

 

She nodded. "Unsurprisingly, the entire court is now convinced that there is indeed an ava on the loose. Some rumors insist there are several."

 

Glen smiled. “That's one more objective done, then,” he said softly, sinking further into the chair.

 

Renma nodded again. "The queen has the castle sealed up like a plague was going through. Every tower warded and heavily guarded; the main castle watched by both constant patrols  _ and _ stationary guards posted in every major passage. The only people of ours who can still move around are those we have planted among castle staff and the few we've got among the Castle Guard. And even they have too many eyes on them to do much."

 

Glen nodded, eyes half closed.

 

Cassiel stiffened, alarmed. Something was wrong.

 

"Glen? Are you alright?" Renma leaned forward, watching Glen worriedly.

 

Glen yawned. “Yeah. Just….tired.” He shook his head. “And….once the job’s done, what do I do? Where do I go? Can't go home….”

 

Renma frowned. "What? You... you'll stay here. Won't you?"

 

Cassiel nodded fervently. He jumped off the bed and went over to Glen, taking Glen’s hand and tugging to get his attention. When he had it, he nodded again, pointing to Glen, then himself, then Glen again.

 

Of course Glen would stay. Right? He wouldn't leave. He had said he wouldn't!

 

Glen shook his head. “There's thousands of people who’ll hate me, think me a monster. Can't stay, not if you want peace.” He ruffled Cassiel's hair. “I’ll take you along, if that's what you want. Said I wasn't leaving  _ you _ behind, and that's the truth. Greenstone, though, I have no parameters for.”

 

Cassiel leaned his head against Glen's shoulder, relief so strong that he felt tears pricking his eyes.  Glen wrapped him up in a hug.

 

"It doesn't have to be Greenstone," said Renma. "There are other courts. And there's the area I come from, the Reaches. Or the wild islands. Other places, beyond that. We-- I mean..." she trailed off, suddenly not looking at them.

 

Cassiel felt Glen twist in his seat, looking over his shoulder.  He looked up, too, and immediately wished he hadn't. The curtain at the entry was still open, and Kedta and Tabbit stood there. Kedta was accompanied by his parents -- Cassiel cringed at the sight of those familiar faces -- and Tabbit had a woman with him who Cassiel thought was probably his mother. They looked rather alike.

 

“Can I help you?” Glen asked, giving Kedta and Tabbit sharp looks.

 

Kedta shrank back from the look, leaning against his parents and prompting his mother to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and his father to frown at Glen. Cassiel threw Kedta an 'I know what you're doing' look.

 

Kedta's da nodded to Glen. "We came to talk about Daka. It seems there's been an... altercation."

 

Oh, this wasn't going to go well.


	17. The adults (and Glen) talk things out

Glen poured himself another cup of coffee. He needed something to hold to keep his hands from shaking with rage, however calm he kept his face as he sat across from the two idiot’s parents, in one of the larger rooms, usually abandoned. “Now that that's dealt with, how about you tell me what your son told you. Just so I can compare it,” he said to the two that had come together. 

At least they’d given him enough time to get his coat. Ren  _ had _ done a nice job fixing it up. Barely could tell it had been torn in most places.

Figures he'd be interrupted with this bullshit, though.

 

The man, who'd introduced himself as Dorent, nodded. "Kedta tells me that he and his friend met Daka in the hall. They invited him to play with them, but he became aggressive. Daka shoved Tabbit, then threatened him with a knife. Kedta tried to step in, and Daka hit him in the stomach."

 

"He left quite a bruise," the woman, Heida, added.

 

"Then Daka ran off," Dorent finished. “It's very concerning. My wife and I are well aware of Daka's... issues. We fostered him ourselves for nearly a month, shortly after his father--" he glanced at Cassiel, and changed tack, "ah, about a year ago. He has never been very social, and can be aggressive, but if the behavior is escalating, well, it needs to be addressed."

 

“Interesting. You are aware that your son and Tabbit have been bullying  _ Cassiel _ ever since your attempt at fostering him?” Glen said levelly. “And while I get that he's not particularly enthusiastic about engaging, I would hardly call him aggressive.” He gave Cassiel a look. “Let me guess. They tried again since I wasn't in the picture, you kicked their asses?”

 

Cassiel nodded reluctantly. But then he patted the knife in its sheath, and shook his head with a frown.

 

“Yeah, I know you wouldn't use it,” he said, before turning back to the parents. “Well?”

 

Dorent shook his head. "No, I'm not aware of anything like that at all. Where did you get that idea? Kedta would never bully anyone. He has tried several times to  _ befriend _ Daka. Er, Cassiel." He glanced at his wife. "Cassiel?" he asked her quietly. She shrugged. Dorent continued. "And I don't think Tabbit is the bullying sort, either."

 

"Of course not," said the other woman, Bedth, who had come with the boy in question.

 

“Going to have to remove that assumption, sorry,” Glen said, setting aside his mug to pull out his tablet. He was glad he’d been uploading recordings to it. Could have projected directly but that required physical contact, and with what he was using to record….yeah, they might be idiots but they didn't deserve traumatizing. He pulled up the file he needed, and reversed the tablet so the screen was facing the parents. “This here is a recording of the first day I met Cassiel.” He hit play.

 

It was all there in high definition audio-video, captured by the camera in his artificial eye. The taunting, the mocking game of keep-away, the jeering laughter as Kedta shoved Cassiel to the ground. Both boys were obviously comfortable in their roles as tormentors, making it painfully clear that this sort of thing had been going on for a good while. Then Glen stepped in, stopping it, and Tabbit showed his cowardly colors while Kedta tried to play the innocent and weasel his way out of any blame.

 

Seated between his parents, Kedta went pale and fixed his eyes on the table. Tabbit's face turned red and a stubborn expression settled on his features.

 

To Dorent and Heida's credit, they at least had the decency to look shocked. Heida looked down at Kedta like someone had just swapped her kid out for a changeling, and Dorent's mouth turned into a thin, hard line.

 

But Bedth snorted and shook her head. "Is that all? That's not bullying. That's just kids being kids." She rolled her eyes. "Sounds to me like the only reason today's 'altercation'," complete with air quotes, "happened is because that one," gesturing at Cassiel, "finally toughened up and learned to hit back. Good for him. We should all just stop interfering and let the boys work it out for themselves."

 

**[Kill!]**

Okay, Id did  _ not _ like hearing that.  _ He _ didn't, either. “Taking from the weaker and less 'useful’? Harming others just because they can get away with it? I grew up in my home world’s slums, and what I saw here is the same sort of thought that left some of my closest friends  _ dead and buried. _ ”

 

"Oh?" Bedth raised an eyebrow. "That why he has a  _ knife _ ? Because if anything crosses the line here, I'd say that's probably it.  _ Not _ the harmless teasing and roughhousing the other boys were up to."

 

“He has it for his own protection,” Glen said. “That and the self-defense training. And if you insist on making out targeting and abusing someone because they can't tell someone about it as 'harmless’, evidently you’re not going to be at all receptive to the idea that it's actually a bad thing.” He shrugged. “But if you're such a fan of letting them work it out for themselves, fine. Hope you don't mind your kid losing some important bits.”

 

Bedth's mouth opened, but Glen didn't get to hear whatever idiotic outburst was meant to go with that outraged face, because Dorent broke in.

 

"Kedta and Tabbit's behavior is obviously unacceptable," he said. "I intend to make sure that Kedta, at least, understands that. But I also don't think an eight-year-old should be allowed to walk around with a knife, for self defense or otherwise. That just isn't safe."

 

"It's perfectly safe," said Ren, speaking up suddenly. "Where I'm from, we teach children to use tools, including knives, early on specifically so that they  _ won't _ hurt themselves or someone else. Granted, the knives are smaller," she admitted. "But the point stands. Cassiel isn't just 'walking around' with a knife. He does know how to use it, and knows when not to."

 

"'Acceptable behavior' does not mean the same thing where  _ you're _ from that it does here.  _ We _ do not arm our children," said Heida, giving Ren a dismissive look. Ren's tail lashed irritably.

 

“No. You're perfectly fine with neglecting them,” Glen said. “One person-  _ one _ \- actually caring enough to talk to him, be an actual parent, would have been plenty. Instead, I- a freaking  _ alien assassin _ \- seem to be the only one who could be bothered to take care of him. Congratulations. So he's keeping the knife.”

 

Heida scowled. "I can't speak for anyone else that fostered the boy, but we  _ tried _ . We opened our home out of the kindness of our hearts, fed him and clothed him and gave him the same care we give our own son. I suspect, now, that there were issues between him and our Kedta, and I'm very sorry about that if so. But there were problems entirely apart from that. Running away, bad behavior, social problems... And have  _ you _ gotten him to speak? Or even write? It doesn't look like it." She made a sharp gesture with one hand. "I understand  _ why _ he's a troubled child, and I'm sorry, but it was just more than I could handle."

 

By the end of this, Cassiel's shoulders were hunched and his head hung low, one hand rubbing absently at his chest as he stared at his knees.

 

Dorent put a hand on Heida's shoulder, calming her somewhat. "D- Cassiel is, as my wife says, a troubled child. Many people have tried to work with him and failed to get results. If he's responding well to you... I suppose that's good, in a way, but I'm also... please don't take this the wrong way... but I'm also a bit concerned. Considering... some of the things I've heard."

 

“That I’m a monster, or demon, or something like that,” Glen said with a shrug. “And mayhaps I’m being a bit too hard on you. I can read body language, and you’re close enough to human that I don't need to hear him speak to understand him.” He patted Cassiel on the back.

 

Cassiel lifted his head, looking up at Glen with old hurt in his eyes, but managing a small smile.

 

Dorent and Heida exchanged a look. "Not a monster, no," said Dorent. "We don't think that. It's just that... You've done some exceedingly violent things. Things that  _ had _ to be done," he hurried to add, "for the sake of our cause. And I appreciate what your help has done for us. But... when it comes to a child... perhaps you aren't... ah... the best influence."

 

"Provoked or not, self defense or not, he did attack two other children," said Heida, "and you yourself say that you taught him how."

 

Bedth stood up. "Well  _ I _ am done here," she said. "I'm going to talk to my husband, and you can bet we'll be talking to Verlel about all this." She nodded to Dorent and Heida. "You should, too, if you ask me. See what  _ she _ thinks ought to be done."

 

She stormed out, her son following her. Good riddance.

He turned back to the slightly more reasonable parents. “Believe me, I know I’m not the best possible choice for raising a kid.”

That had not been true, once. Long ago.

He shook his head, banishing those old memories. That part of his life was long over. “But I’m  _ trying. _ And since it looks like this is the last world I’ll be reaching, I think that I’ll be leaving that part of my life behind soon enough. Maybe find a farm.”

**[No hunt?]**

_ [There will always be enemies] _

**[Hmph. Fine.]**

 

Dorent and Heida looked surprised. "A... farm?" said Heida, as if she couldn't fit the concept together with the person sitting in front of her. If only she knew.

 

"Huh." Dorent nodded slowly. "Well, I wish you the best. Let's hope this mess the court is in will be over soon, and that we come out the better for it, so we can all go back to normal lives."

 

"Gods bless  _ that _ ," said Ren fervently. The other two smiled, nodding their agreement.

 

“Anything else you'd like to talk about?” he asked politely.

 

"No," said Dorent. "I'm sorry we troubled you, but glad that we spoke." He glanced at Kedta, who sank low in his chair, a sour look on his face.

 

They stood, and Dorent offered Glen a hand. "Good luck.”

 

He took it. “Thank you,” he said softly.


	18. Of Gods, Pasts, and those who remember both

Ren sat curled in an armchair, watching Glen and Cassiel leaning over Glen's tablet, playing a game Glen called 'chess'. They were on their third round. It looked complex, but Cassiel, as far as she could tell, wasn't half bad at it. And he seemed to revel in it even when he was losing. Glen, too, was obviously enjoying himself. More than a game, it was almost like a conversation between the two of them. Ren smiled, watching the silent interaction.

 

They had the warren's main room to themselves. Everyone else was busy at their various tasks, preparing for tomorrow. Late tonight, Ren would get herself caught. And in the morning... well, in the morning it would all be over, one way or another.

 

Ren sighed, no longer feeling quite as content as she had just a moment ago.

 

Glen looked up from the board. “Something wrong?”

 

She shrugged. "Not really. Thinking too much, maybe." She smiled, but it felt thin.

 

Glen frowned. “Living underground can do that. Pity we can't go into the castle and get some proper light aboveground.”

 

Cassiel looked up, too. He gave them half a smile, then got up and tugged Glen's sleeve.

 

“You have an idea?” Glen asked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, show us.”

 

They followed Cassiel, Ren wondering where he could possibly be headed. Out of the warren, as it turned out, but not up into the castle. Down, into parts of the old mine tunnels that hadn't been touched in years.

 

"You don't come down here alone do you?" Ren asked, peering at Cassiel by the glow of the Weaving she'd made to light their way. She hoped not; she didn't like the idea of him wandering around in unused, unmaintained tunnels.

 

He shrugged, merely beckoning them to keep up.

 

Not long after, Ren noticed the tunnel ahead growing a bit lighter. It turned, suddenly and sharply, and they found themselves on a ledge, looking down a broad, spiral stairwell. The steps themselves curved past right above their heads, while the ledge under their feet dropped straight off, with a considerable distance between them and the next spiral.

 

Glen raised an eyebrow. “Well. That's new. And very unsafe-looking.” He grinned. “Just my cup of tea.”

 

Ren laughed. "Then you're going to love what comes next. I know where we are now." She grinned at Cassiel, and gave him a nod.

 

She eyed the drop to the stairs below, then the jump to the ones across the stairwell. Still a drop, going that way, but not as far. Seemed like the better choice. She backed up a step, then leapt. A lifetime of practice, jumping the isle gaps back home, carried her easily through the motions and across the three meter gap. Only once she was there did it occur to her to wonder if the other two could manage the same. Even as she thought it, Cassiel landed on the steps beside her.

 

They both turned to look back at Glen.

 

Glen shrugged, and began to back up, before sprinting out of the tunnel and leaping across. He fell below the view of the stairs, but his hands caught the stone and he pulled himself up to them in an instant.  Cassiel latched on to Glen's coat collar as Glen pulled himself over the edge, helping to tug him up.

 

"You alright? Ren asked, voice a little unsteady. She'd thought, for just an instant, that he'd missed the leap, and it left her heart racing.

 

Glen nodded. “Not Demeki. Legs aren't as powerful, and I’m denser than you lot. Jumping isn't as easy.”

 

"I'm sorry, I didn't think about that..."

 

He shook his head. “No worries. Planned it well enough.” He nodded to Cassiel. “So where's the thing you wanted to show us?”

 

Cassiel grinned and led the way down the stairs. Ren looked sidelong at Glen, quirking an eyebrow. "That jump wasn't what I meant when I said you'd love this." She went after Cassiel, Glen following behind.

 

They descended the staircase, going around enough times to make Ren feel a little dizzy, until a metal floor became visible below. The stairwell ended, but the steps kept going, suspended by heavy chains. When they reached the landing, an intricate network of walkways, bridges, and platforms became visible... all dangling from the underside of the island, swaying slightly.

 

Below, only an endless sea of clouds, stretching to the horizon. All around, other islands of varying sizes hovered in the air. Most were about level with Greenstone, while others soared high above, or rode so low that their undersides dipped into the clouds.

 

Cassiel ran out onto one of the bridges, to a large platform laden with heavy clay planters overflowing with greenery.

 

Glen looked around slowly. “I had almost forgotten you’d said your islands floated,” he said softly. “We don't have anything like that. Not on worlds that support life.”

 

“You don't?” said Ren, surprised. She'd never really thought of the flying islands as anything unusual. They just… were. Like the sky above or the clouds below. “What are your worlds like?”

 

“A lot lower down, for one,” Glen said. “Clouds are usually above us. Not as thick as the layer here, mind. Landmasses….” He shook his head. “From what I’ve seen of your maps, you have many, many islands. Hundreds just in this region. But no large landmasses, and that's even odder. Most worlds have a few very large islands called continents, hundreds or thousands of times the size of places like Greenstone. Oceans divide them.”

 

Ren couldn't imagine islands that big. “Oceans?” she asked. She walked out onto the bridge, then paused, waiting for him to follow.

 

Glen stopped looking around and caught up with her quickly. “They're to lakes what continents are to islands,” he said.

 

“You must never want for water,” she said, trying to picture it. “That would be nice. In dry years, some of our water sources completely dry up.”

 

Glen shrugged. “Usually it's salt water. Can't drink it. Freshwater is only found in smaller lakes and rivers.” He looked back over the cloud sea as they caught up with Cassiel. “Everything I know about terraforming tells me this shouldn't be capable of supporting life. The atmosphere alone should be too thin up here to be breathable. Magic?”

 

Ren thought about it. "I suppose so? Everything has Essence, even the world itself. The world's Essence flows in streams, and runs through everything. The clouds, the islands, the air. Everything's tied together, interconnected." She sat down on a wrought-iron bench overlooking the vistas around them. Cassiel had eschewed the bench in favor is sitting right on the edge of the platform, dangling his feet over the edge and leaning through the railing to look down.

 

“There are stories... I don't know if you can call them histories, or if they're just myths. It all happened -- if it happened -- so long ago that there are no records of any of it. Just the stories themselves, and they vary. Anyway, according to the stories, the islands used to be lower down, and closer together, so close that you could walk from one to another -- like you can in the Reaches -- all the way around the world. But then a great danger came. A dark god, a terrible plague, a great war... it depends who you ask. And the gods lifted the islands up to escape it, and they've been this way ever since." She shrugged. "But of course, there are other people who say the world has always been the way it is, and the rest is just stories."

 

Glen sat on the other end of the bench, looking out. "Hmm. I've read some of your mythology. You have a lot of gods, and plenty of accounts of interactions with them. Mayhaps those stories of yours are true." He shrugged. "Then again, none of those accounts are recent. All a couple centuries old, at least. So maybe it's  _ not _ true." Another shrug. "A bit above me, to be honest."

 

"I don't know about raising the islands," said Ren softly. "The gods, though... I like to think they're still listening, even if they don't answer much anymore." 

 

She looked over at him. "And not all of the stories are that old. When I was small, one of the grandmothers in my village used to tell about how a god came to our island when  _ she  _ was a little girl. He was a pathwalker, she said, a traveler's god. He gave all the children flowers he said only grew on the other side of the world. Of course, maybe he was just a traveling storyteller. A lot of people thought so. But she was always so certain it was true." Ren shrugged. "I believed her."

 

Glen nodded. "I've met gods. Some decent, some not. Some I killed. She could have been right."

 

Ren gawked at him. Met...  _ Killed _ ? "You've  _ what _ ?"

 

“Killed gods. S’not so difficult if you have the right tools.” He shrugged. “I think….seven, eight? Not sure if a couple were actually gods or just elementals with delusions of grandeur.”

 

Ren shook her head. "I never even thought gods  _ could _ die. And how did you end up meeting  _ that many _ gods, much less killing them?"

 

“Multiple universes,” Glen said. “Lets you find a lot of pantheons. Also,  _ anything _ can die if you hit it with a big enough weapon.”

 

“I suppose that's true enough," said Ren, still a little unsettled by the idea of godkilling. Then she gave Glen a thoughtful look. "You mentioned before that you'd been through multiple universes. And you said... that you were lost. What... what happened?"

 

Glen shook his head. “Something went wrong during a battle. My partner and I found ourselves in another universe. We tried to get back home….he died, and I was in yet another world. I’ve kept moving since then.”

 

Carefully, Ren reached over and put a hand on Glen's arm. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

 

“It was years ago,” he said quietly.

 

Maybe so, but there was still pain in his voice. She withdrew her hand, but not before squeezing his arm gently first, letting him know she heard it, and understood.

 

"Tell me about your home?" she asked, after a moment. Thoughts of a lost home might not be the most cheerful, but they were surely better than what had come after. And she was genuinely curious what his life had been like.

 

He paused. “Maeyis? It was a frontier world….no really big settlements. A couple of small cities. Farms, mostly, where it wasn't desert. I grew up in one of the city slums. It….was not pleasant. Most of the people I knew didn't survive long. Food was short, nobody really cared about us, except trying to clear us out like vermin for  _ daring _ to exist and be paupers instead of wealthy.” A pause. “A friend of mine….he was some kind of escaped experiment that the local government wanted back. I guess that was the final straw, because we started fighting back. We kicked the people running the show offplanet and joined the rebels like other planets had. I was sixteen. Lied about my age to enlist. From there….it was one hell of a war. Took nearly twenty years to end. Fifteen of those, I spent fighting almost all the time. I quit after the war ended. Went back home to my wife….she was raising the kids. Two daughters. They…..” His shoulders stiffened. “I don't want to talk about it.”

 

_ Goddess take her tongue _ , why hadn't she just left it alone? "No... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I... I'm sorry, Glen, I didn't mean to..." She trailed off, cursing herself again. She'd known he couldn't go home,  _ should _ have known there were people there that he cared about, people he missed.

 

He shook his head. “It's alright. Just….not something I like remembering. Losing them.”

 

"No. I understand that. Believe me, I do." Ren did. She had a list. The fall of her island, taking her village and her whole clan with it, had not been her first loss, nor the hardest.

 

He nodded, leaning back slightly. “That was thirty-six years ago. I haven't seen my home world since.”

 

Ren blinked. Thirty-six years... he'd been sixteen... then for fiteen years... had she missed something? "Wait, how old are you?" He didn't even look thirty-six  _ in total _ .

 

“Seventy-six. The year here is three hundred sixty-five days, days about twenty-four hours, yes?”

 

"Three hundred sixty-four days, by the court calenders. But yes. You... you don't look... Seventy-six is a  _ longhorn _ . An old man, if you were Demeki." She stared at him. "How long do humans  _ live _ ?"

 

“Assuming disease and war doesn't take us out….about two, three centuries?” he said with a shrug. “A lot of it depends on the level of medical care, but that really isn't a factor until you're at least a hundred and fifty. That's for civilians, though. A soldier like me...I have forty years left, or thereabouts, before I start really aging.”

 

That was still, what, almost a hundred and twenty? Before he even started  _ aging _ . Ren could only shake her head. Her mother had died at sixty-four. Her grandmother had been positively ancient when she made it to eighty. "I don't think any Demeki has ever lived to a be hundred and fifty," she said. "I've never even heard of anyone living to a  _ hundred _ ." 

 

Glen nodded. “Your people don't have the technology to allow people to live that long. We do.”

 

"‘Technology’ again," she said, giving him a look. "And you're  _ sure _ that's not a kind of magic?"

 

“Yes. Anyone can study and learn it, and it follows the universe’s physical laws. Magic breaks or ignores those laws as it pleases, and you need someone with a special talent to make use of it.”

 

"Magic does have rules, though,” said Ren. “It sounds like technology just follows a different set of them. But so do different types of magic."

 

“Still. Trust me on this- it's  _ not _ magic. We do have that though. Some of it even scarier than our tech.” He grinned.

 

"Scarier than weapons that fire bits of the sun?" asked Ren, raising an eyebrow.

 

“ _ Much _ scarier,” Glen said. “We call them Archons, and each one could probably  _ destroy _ a sun if they felt like it.”

 

Sometimes Ren wondered if Glen was actually  _ trying _ to break her head. "They must be gods, if they can do that."

 

“Nope. All mortal, or at least they started out that way. And nobody, bar a few cults, actually worships them.”

 

"If they started out mortal, how did they end up... godlike?"

 

Glen shrugged again. “Most of the records on them are locked down, even for me, but from what I found, lots and lots of combined mental and physical trauma in one event.”

 

Ren made a face. "That sounds awful. Why would  _ that _ give someone godlike power?”

 

Glen smiled bitterly. “Our universe is not very nice,” he said. “Maybe it's how it balances its books. Something bad happens to you, you get the power to make sure it never happens again.”

 

Ren didn't have an answer to that, and lapsed into silence. Glen did, too, both of them gazing out at the view. Cassiel got up and began to wander around the platform, poking into the planters and scaring fat green beetles up out of the leaves. They unfolded iridescent wings from under their shells and flew off, clicking their irritation.

 

Several minutes passed in silence before Ren, wary of asking the wrong thing but curious all the same, risked voicing one more question. "What's that chain you wear?" she asked, nodding to the steel chain around Glen’s neck.

 

Glen blinked, and raised a hand, catching the fine chain. “The symbol of my faith,” he said, pulling it out. A t-shaped cross made of mottled black and silver metal spun at the end of the necklace.

 

Ren leaned forward to see it. "Your god's sign? What god do you follow?" she asked. "And what kind of metal is it made of? I've never seen metal like that."

 

“God. And it's a mix of blessed silver and northern iron,” he said.

 

She knew there were some gods that were referred to only by their titles, never their names, but the title of Glen's god seemed incomplete. God of what? "Why a blessed metal paired with iron? Is he a forge god?"

 

“No, He’s…..God. Of everything.”

 

"Everything?" asked Ren, confused. "Do you mean he rules the other gods of your world, or...?" 

 

“No. It is more….there is a difference between Him and other gods. He is the one who made all of creation. The universes function as they do because He wills it. There are no gods He rules over. To a truly omnipotent and omniscient being, they are not any different from you and I.”

 

Ren frowned. "The Maker? But... he  _ became _ the world. He gave up his life so that all life could be. He isn't, you know. Still around. I mean, he is, but... only in the sense that the world is, in his place. Or  _ as _ the world, depending how you look at it, I guess. At least," she shrugged, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, "that's what I was taught."

 

Glen shrugged. “Not quite. You have stars, yes? Each one is another sun, with planets orbiting it. Or perhaps planets orbiting your own sun. Some might be habitable.  So, if your Maker made this world, who made the others? And who made  _ him? _ Who made the laws that make worlds and galaxies turn in the night?” 

 

They were good questions. "I... I never thought to ask."

 

“My faith tells me God did, for all universes that are and will ever be.”

 

Ren thought about that. "Everything is a lot bigger than I ever thought it was. Other worlds, other  _ universes _ . Everything has to come back to something. Something big enough to connect it all." She nodded slowly, staring out at the clouds.

 

Glen chuckled. “Precisely.”

 

Cassiel came back to them then, proudly holding out his hand to display the beetle he had finally caught. Ren smiled.

 

Glen smiled too. “Finally got one. Planning to keep it?” he asked.

 

Cassiel shook his head. He loosened his fingers so the beetle could go free. It crawled up onto his wrist, but then stopped, apparently disinclined to escape properly.

 

"Silly thing," said Ren, laughing.

 

Glen leaned back, closing his eyes and letting what sunlight was visible warm him. He sighed contentedly. “Big day tomorrow.”

 

"Yeah..." Ren sighed, too, considerably less contentedly. Cassiel's beetle finally flew away. Lucky bug.

 

He dug through his pockets, and handed her a small cylinder. She took it. 

“It's a tracker. Keep it close. I’ll be setting up over the courtyard around the same time you're heading out. Worst comes to worst, I  _ will _ find you.”

 

If things went wrong, the only place she'd be found was under the cloud sea. She couldn't help glancing down at it, wondering what it would be like, if she fell... She shook her head. "Don't worry about me. Whatever happens to me, happens. The important thing is that you'll get a shot at the queen. Just focus on that."

 

Glen took a breath. Let it out. “I was that sort of man once. I try not to be, but if you will it, I will be that man again.”

 

That brought to mind the memory of Glen 'reporting' to Verlel. Ren shook her head. "I'm not... I don't want you to be..." She paused, sorting her words. "We found a way to protect the children, but what about the rest of the court? What about the islefalls? The queen is going to keep taking, and more people will die. I  _ know _ what I'm risking, going along with Vel's plan. And I'm willing to pay what it might cost me. I hope it doesn't come to that. But if it does... it's worth it. So don't risk the plan for my sake. And don't risk  _ yourself _ for my sake, either." She nodded to Cassiel, off hunting for another beetle. "You've got someone who needs you."

  
Glen looked over at Cassiel. “As you wish.”


	19. A random Mook has a nice day

Jarra, unlike most of the guards, wasn't worried. Sure,  _ something _ had killed off most of the Queen's Guard, but they were snobs anyway. Probably did it to themselves with their mancer magic, the bastards. Sure, that meant more patrols and standing outside vacant rooms for hours on end, but all that really meant was that there weren't any officers to 'correct’ you if you decided to slouch a bit.

Well, mostly.

He wasn't quite sure how he’d gotten roped into replacing the guard at the base of the Queen's tower, but it meant he couldn't move unless someone showed up. In the middle of the night. While just about everyone was ordered to stay inside.

He was so, so, so, so  _ bored. _

 

Then he heard something. He didn't see anything, but he definitely heard something. Quiet, shuffling footsteps, approaching the tower gate.

 

He lowered his spear. “Who's there?”

 

The sounds stopped. But after a moment, he heard the gate rattle softly, and a faint glow appeared  _ inside _ the lock itself.

 

_ Really? _ He poked his spear at the lock.

 

The air shimmered for a moment and then, between one blink and the next, a young woman with short, dark hair appeared, snatching her hand back from the lock and the point of his spear. She seemed to realize suddenly that she wasn't invisible anymore, and she startled, hurriedly backing away from him.

 

“H-hey! Stop!” He took a step forward, intending to grab her.  She turned and ran.

 

He ran after her, but he was in heavy armor and she wasn't.  It made little difference, though; she didn't even make it to the end of the corridor before two Castle Guards and a Queen's Guard rounded the corner, cutting her off. She skidded to a halt, then doubled back toward Jarra. The Queen's Guard lowered his spear. The tip glowed orange, and a bolt of light shot out, slamming into the woman from behind. She screamed, twisting as she fell, then landed in a heap practically at Jarra's feet.

 

Jarra pointed his spear at her. Couldn't be too careful with magic users. “Alright, you. You're under arrest.”

 

She grimaced at him, but didn't attempt to get up. The other three approached. The Queen's Guard kept his spear trained on the woman, while one of the others knelt beside her, pulling her hands behind her back and binding her wrists. She didn't fight it, eyes fixed on the glowing spearpoint.

 

The Queen's Guard bent and wrapped a thin strip of soft metal, stamped with symbols, around each of her horns. He said something, tapping first one band and then the other, and the woman winced sharply.

 

"Well done," said the Queen's Guard to Jarra, as he straightened up. "We've finally got our traitor, thanks to you. If she'd made it through the gate, who knows how far she might have gotten."

 

The prisoner was pulled to her feet, and Jarra stared at her.  _ That _ was the traitor? The terrifying Taint who had caused the wasting sickness, sicced monsters on the court, and kept the whole castle in veritable lockdown because she was impossible to find or catch? She didn't look like she had it in her. At the moment, with her head hanging and her hands tied, she looked pretty pathetic. Her attempt to get into the royal tower had been pretty pathetic, too. What kind of big, bad, magic user couldn't even sneak past a single (slightly drowsy, not that he would have admitted it) guard  _ while invisible _ ?

 

"The Queen will be very pleased with your service," the Guard continued. "As will your commander, I'm sure."

 

Jarra lifted his chin. Huh. Well, they should be. He'd caught the traitor, after all. No one else had been able to do that. Very dangerous. He could have been killed! Yes, they should all be very pleased and impressed.

 

"Thank you, sir," he said, humbly.

  
As they led the traitor away, Jarra wondered what his reward would be.


	20. Lock and Load

Cassiel sat on Glen's bed, watching him prepare.

 

Glen had brought a  _ lot _ of weapons out of his coat, and for once they weren't knives. Some looked close to the rifles the other rebels had, but made of metal and a smooth material he called 'carbon fiber’, not wood. All of them were in numerous pieces, spread out over an enormous tarp. Glen was taking the smaller, more colorful ones, and plugging them one by one into his tablet. Right now, only one weapon still looked anything like it originally had, and that was the huge one that Glen had kept in a locked cabinet the whole time.  _ That _ weapon was mostly wires and tiny pieces underneath the covering of the barrel. Parts of it glowed.

Glen didn't say anything as he worked, but he didn't need to.

 

Cassiel watched patiently. The longer it took Glen to ready his weapons, the better. Because once he was done, Glen would leave, and that was the moment Cassiel wanted to put off as long as possible.

 

Glen slotted one last piece into place, nodded, and slid the barrel cover over the huge weapon, before setting it aside and turning to the next, a smaller, blunter one. He nodded to Cassiel. “If you want to help, the knives could use a good checking,” he said quietly.

 

If he did, Glen would be done sooner, and Cassiel didn't want that. Even so, he wanted to help if he could. He wished he could do more. He wished he could go  _ with _ Glen. Cassiel slid off the bed and went over to where Glen had laid out his knives. So many, many knives. He started to check them, one by one, making sure each was sharp and in good condition. Every so often, he glanced up at Glen.

 

Cassiel sighed.

 

Glen looked over. “You're worried?” he asked.

 

Cassiel bit his lip, and shrugged. Then nodded.

 

“I’m not even doing the dangerous part, this time,” Glen said. “But I’m worried, too. I’ll be back though.”

 

Glen was worried, too? That... didn't make Cassiel feel any better. At all. He pointed to himself, then to Glen, then spread his hands in a question.  _ Can't I come with you? _

 

Glen shook his head. “I’m climbing one of the towers. Difficult enough doing it normally, can't do it with you holding on.”

 

Cassiel shook his head. He pointed to himself, then made climbing motions with his hands.  _ I can climb by myself. _

 

“Not these. Fingertip and toeholds only. And I wouldn't be able to catch you if you fell.” He paused. “Please….just….stay where it's safe. I feel bad enough about Ren being in danger, I don't….”

 

Ren wasn't really in danger; she was just pretending, so the queen would come out of her tower. But Glen obviously didn't think so, and the worry and pain in Glen's voice put a knot in Cassiel's chest. He quickly moved over to kneel right beside Glen, and leaned his forehead against Glen's shoulder. After a moment, he nodded slowly. He meant it, too. Even though he really, really didn't want to.

 

Glen let out a sigh, and patted Cassiel on the head. “Thanks.” He hugged Cassiel briefly, then reached back into his coat. “Need you to hold onto some things for me, while I'm gone,” he said.

 

Cassiel looked up, curious.

 

Glen pulled a dozen fine metal necklaces out, each with a pair of steel tags on them. He held them out to Cassiel. “These…..they're our identifiers, if one of us dies and we can't take the body back. All the people I started out with.” He sighed. “Keep a hold of them for me?”

 

Cassiel took them hesitantly. He looked at the tags, then looked at Glen. Why did Glen want him to hold them? He knew this plan was dangerous, but were things worse than the adults had let on? Didn't Glen think he was going to come back? The knot in Cassiel's chest tightened, but he nodded solemnly.

 

Glen smiled slightly. “Nothing  _ should _ go wrong, but I want to have a backup plan,” he said. “Now, if we hurry, we might have time for a round of chess before I go.”

  
Cassiel tried to smile back. He tucked the necklaces into the pocket of his tunic, then nodded. The prospect of chess with Glen made him feel a little better; it might not stop him worrying about Glen, but he'd far rather play chess and try not to worry, than think any more about backup plans and necklaces left behind by the dead.


	21. Stealth/Oddity

The courtyard wasn't  _ quite _ abandoned, but between the odd placement of doors, the cover of darkness, and the fact that the guards at said doors were stupid enough to ruin their night vision with torches, it was close enough for Glen’s purposes. He moved from shadow to shadow, the familiar weight of his plasma rifle back on his back. He paused briefly to take off his boots, tie the laces around his neck.

A leap, and he was clinging to the side of the tower, fingers and toes finding minute gaps in the stone. 

He began to climb, slowly, making no sound.

It was a good thing there was no moon out tonight.

 

Hand, hand, foot, foot. Breath, rinse and repeat. The progress was slow, but several minutes of climbing brought him level with the balcony he’d needed. He looked around.

…..And of  _ course _ there weren't any handholds he could use to get closer.

**[Joy.]**

This was going to be a problem. He craned his neck upward. Okay, still room to go up.

Hand, hand, foot, foot. Then  _ jump! _

A muffled thump as he hit the balcony and rolled.

_ [Too distant to be audible] _

From the ground, but if they had guards at the door--

A curtain rustled open in the room that connected to the balcony.

**[Sh** _ it.] _

“Someone there?” a low voice said. Footsteps.

Glen pressed himself against the wall, and prayed the bastard didn't check the balcony.

Aaaaandd the footsteps were getting closer. Not good.

He held his breath and gripped his knife’s hilt as the footsteps got closer, and closer….then stopped and started moving away. The curtain rustled again, and the sound of footsteps stopped as the guard returned to his post.

He waited a full minute before letting his breath out, and sitting down against the balcony wall. He reached into his coat, and pulled out a roll of stealth fabric, throwing it over himself. Now, thanks to that, anyone looking at him would see the wall behind him.

 

Now he just had to wait until morning. With nothing to do, and not being allowed to make any large movements for fear of disrupting the camouflage tarp.

This was going to take  _ forever _ , wasn't it?

 

###

 

Ren felt as if she'd been sitting in her cell  _ forever _ .

 

Her horns ached fit to split her skull, from whatever the mancer had done to disrupt her Sense and prevent her from Weaving. The ropes around her wrists were biting painfully into her skin. And she had absolutely no way to tell how much time had passed. She wished they would hurry up and come for her. This waiting was driving her mad.

 

As if in answer to her dubious prayer, she heard footsteps. They grew louder. She jumped a little as she heard the rattle of a key in the lock on the gate at the end of the hall, then the squeal of stiff hinges. Footsteps again. A moment later a pair of guards -- both Queen's Guard -- came into view and stopped in front of her cell.

 

The waiting didn't seem so bad all of a sudden. On further reflection, she wouldn't mind doing a little more of it.

 

One of the guards unlocked her cell, and beckoned.

 

"Don't try anything," he said.

 

She shook her head and stood, slowly. He reached in and grabbed her by the arm, towing her out into the passage. Neither of them said anything more as they marched her quickly out of the dungeon, up the stairs, and into the castle.

 

Ren's pulse raced, and she bit the inside of her lip, trying not to get panicky. They turned a corner, and she realized they were not headed in the right direction. She looked around. Had she lost her bearings? But no, a few minutes later they came to the gates of the royal tower. They were unlocked, and unguarded. Her guards led her through.

 

Alright, maybe time to get a little panicky. This was not the plan!

 

"Where..." The word didn't come out right. She swallowed and tried again. "Where are we going?"

 

No answer.

 

They took her up through the tower, higher and higher. She grew more tense with every floor, mind racing as she tried to figure out what to do. Should she try to run? No, her guards were mancers, they would drop her in an instant. Were they taking her to the queen? Maybe she could... what? She couldn't Sense, couldn't Weave, didn't even have a weapon on her. And her hands were literally tied. There would be no attacking the queen, even if she weren't guarded, which she surely would be, and weren't full of stolen power, which she was.

 

Oh, this was looking bad. Really, really bad.

 

They came to a door. An actual, solid door. Ren stared at it, thoughts thrown off track by the architectural oddity of a door anywhere in Greenstone castle. One of her guards reached out and rapped sharply on the iron-bound wood.

  
The door opened.


	22. Worry/Surprise

Glen watched through the sights of his rifle as people filed into the courtyard.  There were raised tiers on three sides, which slowly filled with people whose grim expressions clashed with their brightly-colored attire. Some looked angry and hungry for blood; others were wary, chittering nervously to their neighbors or staring around with worried, watchful eyes. A few looked like they really didn't want to be there, and some actually appeared bored. But every one of them stopped and turned their faces up to the raised platform at the back of the courtyard as people in even more colorful garb -- much of it rather flamboyant -- began to emerge from the castle and take places of honor around the platform.

 

He zoomed in, the lenses of his mask doing the work. Ah, there was Grenmat, and….huh. It seemed that fellow he’d slammed into a wall had been more important than he’d thought. While the nose had been healed, the break was still obvious, and he remembered the face of nothing else.

Now they just needed Ren and the Queen to show up--

 

Right on cue, a herald stepped up to the entry to the raised platform, prepared to announce the queen’s arrival. Down in the courtyard, two guards emerged from a side door, taking up positions on either side.

 

He tracked over to them carefully, not wanting to draw attention.

_ [Fire when she emerges-] _

**[No! Ren safe first!]**

_ Shut up, both of you, _ he snarled mentally. He’d fire when the moment was right. He wasn't going to waste ammunition. He waited.

 

According to Verlel's explanation of the procedure, Ren should be brought out of that side door and positioned at the edge of the cliff. Then the queen would be announced, and would come out to proclaim the sentence officially and preside over the execution. That  _ would _ be the time to strike.

 

A long moment passed. Everyone waited, tense and expectant. Some of the audience grew agitated, exchanging whispers and uncertain glances.

 

Ren did not appear.

 

There was a sudden flurry of movement in the passage behind the herald. The herald startled, looking over his shoulder in confusion. He stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak, but a short, narrow figure in layers of silk and brocade, face framed by a high collar and head adorned with an ornate gold crown, pushed impatiently past him and stormed out onto the platform. Her mouth was open, yelling something, as she strode to the railing and glared down at the empty courtyard.

 

Glen had spent nearly fifty years fighting, and that sort of thing built up instincts. All of which were now telling him things were going very badly wrong. His finger tightened on the trigger.

**[If she is gone, we will have blood!]**

 

###

 

"Vel?" said Ren, staring in astonishment.

 

"Hush, come in, quickly." Verlel ushered Ren into the room. She waved off the guards, and they left without a word or a backward look.

 

"They're with us?" asked Ren, as Verlel shut the door behind them. "Why didn't they say something? I about had a heart attack!"

 

"They're with me. And I told them not to."

 

"What?"

 

Verlel guided Ren into the room, which turned out to be some kind of study. A wall of shelves heavy with books and scrolls, a large desk on the opposite wall cluttered with more of the same. It smelled dusty and close, and the hair on the back of Ren's neck prickled.

 

"No time to explain now," said Verlel. "We have to work quickly." She dragged a wooden chest out of the corner and produced a key, opening it. She began to pull out an assortment of objects, all of them obviously Worked. Verlel's cheeks were flushed, and her tail lashed excitedly behind her. "Quickly," she repeated, eyes glinting.

 

She pulled a large sheet of vellum from the chest and spread it on the floor in the middle of the room. It bore an elaborate, sprawling diagram. Lines swept and curved across every inch of its surface, never intersecting at the same angle twice. Symbols within symbols spiraled across the planes between, and words Ren couldn't read punctuated the page. Verlel added the Worked objects, placing them in a kind of strange choreography on and around the diagram.  A silver handled hairbrush with a few hairs caught in the bristles, a scrap of cloth with symbols burned into it, a crystal goblet, a pewter bowl, a broken knife, item after item, each one burdened with mancer symbols.

 

"Come," said Verlel, as she placed the last piece. "Put your hands here."

 

"Um... Vel?"

 

Verlel looked up. "Oh! Yes, of course." She stood, drawing a knife from somewhere amid the folds of her skirt, and cut the ropes around Ren's wrists. She turned Ren around and grabbed her horns, speaking a trigger word.

 

"Gah!" Ren flinched as the Working curtailing her Sense dropped away with a sharp backlash. Her eyes watered. It felt like someone had run needles through her horns.

 

"Quickly, now, quickly," said Verlel, giving Ren no time to recover. "Hands here." She knelt and indicated two circles within the diagram.

 

"But..."

 

"Now, Renma! Before it's too late!"

 

Ren got down beside the diagram and put her hands where Verlel had pointed.

 

"Good. Now help me draw Essence into each of the objects. I'll tell you what order to do them in."

 

Guided by Verlel, Ren closed her eyes and fed a stream of Essence into the collection of Worked objects. As her hands grew warm and the hum of magic built in her horns, she felt the Workings activate one by one, becoming bright, flickering beacons to her Sense. As she worked, she realized that some of the spells were lighting up without her help. It appeared to be Verlel's doing, though she touched nothing and spoke no trigger words.

 

"Now the diagram," said Verlel. "Start where your hands are and work outward.” Ren did so. Verlel, too, had her hands pressed to clearly designated spots on the vellum. The designs nearest them began to come alive in the Essence, and Ren realized what she was seeing.

 

Verlel was doing the same thing Ren was. She was Weaving.

 

Before Ren could question this, she felt the world suddenly drop out from under her. In an instant, she wasn't in the tower anymore. She was in the courtyard, standing on the raised platform, face to face with an angry, shouting Queen Temor.

 

But no, Ren was in the tower, too, somehow; she could feel the wooden floorboards under her knees, the diagram tangled around her hands. She still saw Verlel, sitting across from her, her face a mask of fierce determination.

 

In the courtyard, Ren also saw, superimposed over the tower room, the queen’s eyes go wide, and her mouth -- yelling words Ren couldn't hear -- snap shut. She stiffened, straight as a rod with her arms at her sides. A pulsing red sphere blossomed around her, and all around the courtyard people collapsed to the ground.

 

Ren felt the pull that had gutted them in her own Essence, too, sucking at her greedily.

 

"Let it take you," said Verlel's voice. In Ren's ears in the tower room, or inside her head down in the courtyard, she couldn't tell.

 

That was the last thing Ren wanted to do, but she trusted Verlel. She let go, let herself be sucked in. The hungry, bottomless spell pulled her down -- so fast! -- and she found what lay inside the queen. Not a Working, or even a Weaving, but something else, something ancient and powerful, tangled up with Temor's Essence and bound around with other, darker energies, like iron bands.

 

Ren managed, just, to stop short of being swallowed up. She could feel Verlel's presence very close by, waiting for her.

 

"Push them away." Verlel's voice inside Ren's head again. Ren understood. Thousands of individual currents, Essence from nearly every living thing on the island, and even the island itself, rushed in a torrent toward that hungry heart. Ren seized the raw power flowing all around her and used it to PUSH outward, shoving the currents away, breaking the flow.

 

The queen or the spell inside her -- Ren couldn't tell which, or if there was even a difference -- began to pull harder. But Verlel was there, wrapping a swirl of energy around it -- her? them? -- and crushing it down, seizing it in an iron grip.


	23. The Death of a Queen, and the Birth of a Tyrant

When Ren appeared, Glen nearly fired anyway. But shock stopped him for half a second, and that was long enough for a massive red barrier to spring up around the Queen, and for the entire crowd to collapse. 

That was enough.

He fired.

The bolt of brilliant green slammed into the barrier, and detonated harmlessly, plasma splashing across it before evaporating. It even absorbed the heat, keeping the bolt from cooking the nearest of the court.

Dammit.

As much as he wanted to, that barrier was far too tough to take down. He had to hope someone could take it down.

 

Then Ren stretched and blurred, her form falling into the red barrier.

**[Nononono]**

The barrier vanished--

**[Kill!]**

\-- and this time, he didn't hesitate.

The next bolt took the Queen in the chest, a second following where her head would have been if not for the first blowing her apart. Slivers of stone shrapnel had scattered throughout the crowd by the time the third hit the glowing green sphere that had formed in the fractions of a second since he had fired.

Five more followed, emptying the magazine.

**[Vengeance]**

It did not replace what he’d lost.

 

###

 

As Verlel tore the spell out of the queen's core, Ren felt everything around it collapse. The Bond, the draw on the court's Essences, the barrier around the queen... it all fell apart, leaving only Ren and an empty husk where Temor had been.

 

Again the world dropped out from under Ren, and she slammed back into herself, once more firmly and only in the tower room.

 

She opened her eyes. Her hands were still on the diagram, stiff and unresponsive. Then her arms gave out, and she collapsed, scattering the Worked objects.

 

"You did beautifully," said Verlel's voice. Ren turned her head, looking up to see Verlel standing over her. Her eyes were even wilder than before, almost manic, and she grinned down at Ren. In her hand was a dense, black shape. Even without using her Sense, Ren could feel power rolling off of it. Verlel held it up. "I could not have gotten this without your help. I'm very grateful, I just want you to know."

 

Ren tried to speak, but she couldn't. Verlel walked away.

 

Darkness crept in around the edges of Ren's vision. She rolled onto her back, struggling for air. She looked for Verlel, but Verlel was gone.

 

The darkness closed in.

 

###

 

Gone. 

**[Mission failure mission failure mission-]**

_ [Pull yourself together! Make certain.] _

Right. The tracker. He pulled out his tablet with shaking hands. 

It booted up far too slowly, precious seconds wasted as it searched--

The top of the royal tower. Far from here. Far from where he had seen her.

It wasn't confirmation. But it was hope. Hope made him stand and run, moving through the maze of passages, empty of guards. Twice he heard the crack of rifle fire, and twice he had to detour, cursing every moment spent moving in a different direction than  **[straight to her]** . The gates to the royal tower were open and unguarded, and he took the steps on the spiral stairway two and three at a time, bursting into the room at the top.

 

There was Ren. She lay sprawled on her back in the middle of the room, the trappings of an elaborate spell scattered around her. She wasn't moving.

 

**[Nononononono]**

He moved faster than he ever had before. Pulse, slow but steady. Breathing, normal. Alive at least. He put a hand on her shoulder, shook her gently.

 

She stirred, and her eyes opened slowly. She turned her head, winced, and finally focused on him. "Glen?"

 

He hugged her, hard. She was  **[safe]** , and that was what mattered. Finally, he let go. “I saw….the queen, you getting sucked in. I thought I lost you,” he said shakily. It still hurt, the last time something like that had happened, and this had torn that wound open.

 

She gave him a strange look, a kind of hopeful astonishment. "I... I'm okay," she said, softly. Her hand shook, as she reached for his and squeezed it.

 

He squeezed back. “I….I should get you to the healers. Can you walk?”

 

Ren tried to get up, but didn't even make it to her knees before her strength gave out.

**[Not good].**

_ [Get her to safety]. _

“Alright. Just…” He got under one arm, helping her up, acting as a crutch. “This work?”

 

She leaned into him, and nodded. But then she stopped. “Wait. Verlel…” Her eyes searched the room, looking for something. “These things… She… This was…” She looked at him. “Glen, it was her. It was Verlel. The…  _ thing _ inside the queen, it was Verlel’s doing. All of this was so she could take… whatever it was.”

 

**[We’ve…]**

_ [Been used.] _

He nodded. “I’ll lock the door. We'll deal with Verlel. You're more important right now.”

 

"But--" her legs shook, and she tightened her arm around him to steady herself.

 

“You. Matter. More,” he gritted out. “You're the only bloody person on this God-forsaken rock I care about other than Cassiel. So we're getting you to the healers.”

 

She gave him that look again, and then she gave in, nodding and letting him guide her out of the room.


	24. The story doesn't end here

Cassiel stood at the railing, watching the islands drift by. The ferry kept a stately pace, which had been a bit disappointing at first. But still, he'd never been on one before, so he wasn't going to complain. The wind picked at his hair and clothes, and he leaned into it, grinning. Flying, he decided, was fun.

 

He only wished it was faster.

 

They'd left quickly. Glen had taken him to see Ren first, but the moment she was up, they had been heading for the ferry. With the Queen dead, Glen could've been blamed for killing her. He  _ had _ , but…  well, he'd been  _ supposed _ to. Cassiel didn't understand why people were upset about it  _ now _ . Even the rebels had been making a fuss, because Ren said that it had actually been Verlel who had corrupted the Bond, and used it to do bad things. But mostly they didn't seem to believe her.

 

So they'd left Greenstone behind, sneaking out of the castle through the mines and boarding the ferry so early in the morning that the sun hadn't even been up yet. 

 

Cassiel was glad. He would be perfectly happy if he never saw Greenstone again. And as long as he had Glen, he didn't much care  _ where _ they went.

 

The ferryman was a stocky, bearded man, who smoked a pipe. He had barely reacted to Glen's appearance, weapon and all. The same could not be said for some of the other passengers. They’d stayed as far away from them as they could. Glen hadn't seemed to mind all that much. He’d stuck close to Ren for most of the ride.

 

Cassiel wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but both of them seemed to watch each other a lot now. Like they both thought the other might fall off the ferry, or suddenly float away, or something, and had to keep checking that they hadn't. He did his best to ignore it. Sometimes adults were just strange.

 

The sun was barely over the horizon when Glen tapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoying yourself?”

 

He looked up at Glen and nodded.

 

“Good, because I don't have the slightest idea where--”

Something in Glen’s coat beeped, and he blinked, then started digging around in it. Finally, he extracted a sphere topped with a blinking green light. He stared at it for a long moment. Then he threw his head back, and began to laugh.

The not-seen went mad. 

 

Cassiel didn't even have to look; he could  _ feel _ it churning, as something brilliant, blinding, snapped into existence somewhere very far above. He winced at the strength of it battering at him.

 

Behind them, Ren yelped; he looked back, and saw her staring up at the sky, searching, her tail lashing agitatedly. "Something's wrong," she said.

 

Glen pulled out his tablet, tapped at it, then nodded and put it back. “Archons. Three of them, and two full battle fleets besides.” 

 

“Archons?” said Ren, eyes widening. “From your home universe?”

 

“Yup. Looks like I finally found a universe they arrived in….” he said softly. “How much longer until this thing reaches the next island? Because they’ll want to pick me up, and I don't think the other people on this ferry would react well.”

 

Cassiel snagged a fold of Glen's coat, a signal to let anyone who might question it know that if they were coming to get Glen, they were getting Cassiel, too.   
  
Ren shrugged. "I don't know. Ferry's headed to 'Bluewall', and I don't even know where that is."   
  
The other passengers, meanwhile, were  _ already _ not reacting well. One of them was dressed in mancer's robes, and although he didn't seem to know which way to look, he obviously could feel the same thing Cassiel could. He looked pretty unhappy about it.

 

“Give it ten minutes,” Glen said softly. “Then there's probably going to be-”

One of the presences overhead  _ jumped _ , and a massive sphere of blue light blinked into existence in front of them.

“...Aaaand I forgot he could teleport. Bloody overgrown wolf.”

Glen waved as the light faded away, exposing a blunt, menacing-looking floating  _ thing _ of metal, nearly as big as the ferry, and the glowing blue figure floating next to it.

 

Another blink, and the figure was next to them, the glow vanishing.  With the glow gone, the figure's presence in the not-seen also faded. Cassiel could still feel it even without looking, but it no longer overwhelmed. The figure itself, however, did.

 

He was tall, close to nine feet, looming over everyone on deck. His right eye was red where it should have been white, and he was armed with a  _ scythe _ ; blue lightning played across both it and his forearms. But stranger than that, even: he was neither Demeki nor human. He looked like a giant rhudit on two legs, complete with large, pointed ears and a long muzzle full of sharp teeth. Under his loose black vest and baggy grey pants, he was even covered in white  _ fur _ .

 

Cassiel looked into the not-seen; it sparked and juddered around the figure, and smelled like a thunderstorm. Cassiel ducked behind Glen and peered cautiously around him. He wasn't the only one spooked. He heard scuffling behind him as the other passengers fled to the far end of the ferry. He glanced back to see them huddled there, staring wide-eyed at the new arrival and the huge metal thing behind him. Only Ren had not run, instead coming slowly up beside Glen, her tail flicking nervously but seeming otherwise more awed and curious than afraid.

 

The figure looked around slowly, then focused on Glen, grinning in a way that failed to be reassuring. “You utter bastard, how’d you beat us here?” he asked in a cheerful tone.

Glen grinned back. “Six years I’ve been wandering parallel worlds, and you show up not having aged a day. Who's the bastard now?”

The figure laughed. “Who's the others? You go native….wait, multiverse?”

 

“You can look at the files when you get back on the ship.”

 

“No need. I can….” The figure’s normal eye flared a bright blue for a moment, before his ears flattened. “Oh. I….I’m sorry.”

 

Glen sighed. “It was a long time ago to me. Drop it.”

 

“Ah….alright.” The figure shuffled awkwardly, all nine feet plus of him. “Look, are you going to come with us? 's kinda important.”

 

Cassiel looked up at Glen. Ren looked over at him, too.

 

Glen sighed. “Fine.”

 

“Now hold up!” the ferryman shouted from his position at the wheel, standing atop the raised back of the ferry. “I’ve got people to take to Bluehall. You lot can go from there, but until then you aren't going anywhere. Ferryman's guild would have my hide if I let a passenger off early.”

 

“Um….okay?” the figure said. “How long is that going to take?”

 

“Couple of hours,” the ferryman said gruffly.

 

The figure sighed, then waved towards the floating thing. It moved up and over the ferry, fading into the distance with a roar.  Cassiel watched it go, then looked back at the strange stranger, and cautiously came out from behind Glen, just a little.

 

The stranger grinned at him. “And what's your name, then?”

 

Cassiel froze, even his tail going still. That grin had an awful lot of teeth in it.

 

Glen sighed. “Right, introductions. Ren, Cassiel, this is Lucin, Archon of lightning. He's big and ugly, but relatively harmless.”

 

“Harmless? You’ll hurt my rep talking like that,” Lucin rumbled.

 

"Hello," said Ren, cautiously friendly.

 

Cassiel briefly lifted one hand in half a wave. His other hand clung to Glen's coat.

 

Lucin sat down, which put him at just below head height with Glen. “Pleasure to meet you all,” he said.

 

Ren nodded. She looked about to say something, when the ferryman spoke up. "If you're gonna stay, you'll have to pay passage. Can’t give free rides, even half rides. Guild bylaw."

 

Glen sighed, and tossed the man a few more coins.

 

The ferryman caught the coins, looked them over, and nodded, satisfied. One of the other passengers, however -- the mancer -- was not. "What in Catafrak’s name is going on here?" he demanded. "Who--  _ what _ are you? Where did you  _ come _ from?"

 

“Lucin, a Shikanen, came from another universe,” Lucin said bluntly. “There's about twenty thousand more much like me orbiting above you right now.”

 

The mancer's mouth dropped open, and he stared dumbly. One of the others took him by the shoulders and quietly pulled him back into the little crowd before he could say anything else.

 

Cassiel looked up. He couldn't see anything overhead, though he could still feel two others like Lucin somewhere far above. Maybe the others were invisible?

 

“He means low orbit,” Glen said quietly. “Too far to see with the naked eye….hold on.”

He rummaged through his coat before pulling out a telescope. “Take a look through this.”

 

Cassiel did, pointing it at the sky and peering through. At first he couldn't find anything.

 

Then he saw them.  Tiny, most of them, even with the telescope, slim shapes of dull metal. But unmistakably  _ there, _ glowing with hidden fires that moved them through space.  He stared at them, amazed. There were people in those things? They were up there with the stars! So far away... 

 

"What's up there?" asked Ren. He passed her the telescope. She scanned the sky... and her mouth dropped open.   
  
Cassiel looked at Glen with wide eyes, and spread his hands in a question.  _ What are they? _

 

“Starships,” Glen said simply. “The Shikanen Third and Commonwealth Seventh Fleets.”

 

“About five hundred vessels total,” Lucin added. “Twenty thousand Shikanen and thirty thousand humans. And enough firepower to melt a planet.”

 

"Incredible," said Ren. Cassiel nodded.   
  
Ren gave Glen his telescope back. "Fifty thousand people," she said. "That's five times the size of all of Greenstone." She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "And I'm not even going to  _ try _ to wrap my head around the weaponry."

 

“We do tend to overkill, don't we?” Glen said wryly.

 

“Hey, can I talk to your friend for a moment?” Lucin asked Glen. Glen nodded, and moved away.

 

“Just two quick questions,” Lucin asked Ren.

 

“Ask away,” said Ren.

 

He motioned to Glen, and lowered his voice, but not enough to stop Cassiel from hearing. “First….are the two of you...Um….together? Because I haven't seen his brain act this…. _ normal _ ….since Arbite.”

 

Ren seemed flustered by the question; her face turned red and she didn't answer right away. Cassiel wasn't sure why. It was a simple question. So simple that he didn't really know why Lucin had asked. Wasn't it obvious that they were all here together?

 

"Oh... we just... we just met a few days ago," she said. What that had to do with anything, he couldn't guess. Even he could give a better answer than that, and he couldn't even talk. In fact...

 

Cassiel stepped forward and pointed to himself, then to Glen. Then to Ren, and to Glen again. Then he made a gesture to indicate all three of them, and a 'going away' motion.  _ I'm with Glen, and Ren's our friend, and we're all leaving Greenstone together. _ There. Couldn't be simpler.

 

Lucin raised an aggressively hairy eyebrow. “Okay. Next question.” He pointed over the side of the ferry. “Do those look like pirates to you?”


	25. This wolf controls the weather

Lucin's assumption about her and Glen threw Ren completely. She wasn’t certain what this thing was that had somehow developed between them, and didn't dare to examine it too closely. Didn't dare to hope too much that it might grow. 

 

Or last.

 

What could she say? She stammered out something vague that didn't answer his question, and felt absurdly grateful for Cassiel's timely intervention. Even if his take on things also made her wonder just what others were seeing.

 

And then pirates. Huntress help her, did they have some kind of beacon over their heads, summoning danger no matter where they went? What were pirates even doing here at this time of year? 

 

But she ran to the rail, and found Lucin was right. A pitch-black flag flew from the uppermast of a compact, streamlined ship, a ship clearly designed to be light and fast. Much faster than the ferry could hope to be. And it already had its undersails spread, lifting it rapidly toward them.

 

“So they are?” Lucin asked. “Just judging from your expression, here.”

 

Ren nodded. "Inexplicably, yes."

 

“Right, let's nip that in the bud,” Lucin snarled, lifting his scythe. Lightning began to spark along the length of the blade. “You might want to hold on to something.”

 

Without further warning, an immense bolt of blue lightning shot out of the clear sky, passing the ferry with an eardrum-shattering boom.  Ren flinched, hands tightening on the rail. She'd closed her eyes, but not fast enough, and the lightning left her dazzled. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision as she risked another look over the railing.

 

The pirate ship was gone. No, not quite- some burning fragments were falling rapidly into the cloud sea far below.

 

Ren stared, open-mouthed. Cassiel came up beside her and looked down, too, but by then there was nothing left. "There was a ship there, just a second ago," she told him.

 

“I don't like pirates,” Lucin said, the electricity fading away.

“ _ That _ is an understatement,” Glen said.

 

A hubbub behind them drew Ren's attention. She looked to the back of the ferry, where the other passengers were still huddled at the foot of the steering platform. There was something on the deck... oh. The mancer had fainted. The ferryman stood at the wheel, observing this with mild interest but otherwise unimpressed.

 

“All you furry lot able to do that?” he asked, and Lucin shook his head.

 

“Just me, I’m afraid.”

 

“Hmph. Pity.”

 

Glen sighed. “So. Any other interruptions to this excruciatingly long ride inbound?”

 

“Nope,” Lucin said with a grin. “You’ll just have to stay bored.”

  
“No need. I brought chess.” Glen said, holding up his tablet. “Cassiel?”  Cassiel perked up and went to join Glen. Ren followed, enjoying the boy's eagerness.  Glen gave her a look before starting to play, and patted the deck next to him.  She smiled and sat down next to him. She worried about where it was that Lucin actually wanted them to go, but until he saw fit to tell them, she was content to enjoy the ride.


	26. The new arrivals have the best stuff

Glen recognized where he was even before he blinked the light from Lucin’s teleport out of his eyes. The taste of recycled air was familiar even after all this time. A quick look around once the light  _ had  _ faded confirmed just which ship he was on.  _ Avenger’s _ flag bridge was smaller than the main one, and buried deep in the hull besides, but it was still a huge room, filled near to capacity with seated officers and computer and comms terminals, meant to coordinate the entire fleet.

He recognized the cylindrical holotank, and the world it displayed, blue and green markers showing the locations of the Stellar Commonwealth and Shikanen Confederacy ships orbiting above it. He also recognized the people around it- the hologram projection of Nemesis, the ship's AI, taking the form of a coiled orange serpent with a bone-crested head the most obvious of them. 

Caror he didn't mind- the gigantic- even by Shikanen standards- Archon of Fire rarely spoke, but was dependable. Cidet he knew well- the Lord General  _ had _ run Special Operations for some time, and he’d worked alongside the man’s people.

Zachariah, though….the robed Archon hated him, though he hadn't the slightest idea why.

 

He felt Cassiel's small hand gripping his coat again, not pulling, just lightly holding on. From the corner of his eye, he saw the boy peering around with wide-eyed curiosity. Ren stood on Glen's other side, less curious and more wary. She moved a little closer to him.

 

Cidet nodded his greying head towards him. “Ah, Operative. You were delayed?”

 

He shrugged. “Simply leaving would have caused some problems. Better to wait, sir.”

 

“I see. Who are your friends?”

 

He patted Cassiel on the shoulder. “The boy picked the name Cassiel. I’m convinced God has a nasty sense of humor. Anyway, this is Caror-” 

Caror nodded and bowed slightly, his brown-furred bulk intimidating even without factoring in the tan cloak he wore or the massive two-handed blade whose hilt poked over one shoulder.  _ “Scanen tac, kleinun,” _ he rumbled.

“--Zachariah--”

Zachariah said nothing, the grey-furred priest instead looking directly at him. Challenging him.

“--Nemesis--”

Nemesis ignored all this and uncoiled herself, moving closer. “Interesting biology,” a voice buzzed from an overhead speaker. “I’m happy for you, Operative.”

**[I like her.]**

Cassiel watched Nemesis's hologram with fascination.

“--and Lord General Cidet.”

“And the lady?” Cidet asked, with a nod to Ren.

 

"I'm Renma," said Ren. She gave the group a respectful nod.

 

“A pleasure to meet you, then, Renma,” Cidet said, before turning to Glen. “We have your recordings of the last six years on file, and your delay gave those of us who weren't an AI or Lucin to examine at least some of them. My condolences for your loss.”

 

He nodded.  **[It still hurt]** , but he managed now.

 

“However, your experience with parallel worlds is not why we have called you here. We intend for you to be given a full debriefing, but for the moment we would like your own opinion before we move forward.”

 

This was sounding ominous. “On what, sir?”

 

“We need land, and it currently seems the best way to get it that doesn't involve a war of conquest is to treat with the locals. Greenstone Court is, thanks to your actions, our most likely point of useful contact. We intend to mediate the current political situation there, and negotiate for landing rights. You and your companions may be affected. They’ll likely demand we hand you over for trial.”

 

“Because I put a magazine of anti-tank ammunition into their monarch, sir,” he said, and Cidet nodded.

 

Glen drew in a breath. “You can guarantee our safety?”

 

Cidet nodded. “Worst comes to worst, we  _ will _ proceed with the military option. I would rather we not have to, which is why I'm bothering to negotiate with them at all.”

 

He looked at Ren. Her choice, more than his. “Well?”

 

She shut her eyes, shaking her head, but then sighed. "If we have to," she said wearily. "'War of conquest' sounds less than favorable."

 

“Given population technological levels, estimated 60,000 military and civilian casualties if they do not surrender instantly,” Nemesis said. “Possibly rising to over 3,000,000 out of overall population of 5,000,000 in the event of protracted resistance.”

 

There was a moment of silence.

“Well, we’ll send off a diplomatic party shortly. Would you mind waiting in the shuttle bay?” Cidet said.

 

* _ A moment, Lord General,* _ Zachariah said, his 'voice’ echoing silently in the heads of everyone present.

* _ I must examine this Operative's mental structures immediately. There is no telling what damage has been done.* _

Oh shit no, he wasn't--

* _ Sleep* _

Blackout.


	27. Let's check in with Manipulative Doomlady over here

Near the Godsteps, life was hard. No court wanted to be all that close to the island formation, which left only the desperate, destitute, and deranged to make their homes there. The soil in the surrounding islands was thin and poor, but it gave enough to live on, and the herds of gafr that could be found were plentiful for both meat and hides.

The latter were why Tomar was out in the cold autumn wind trying to track down a herd. If he wanted something that wasn't beans or potato mash tonight, he needed to catch some. Grimacing, he rewrapped his scarf for what seemed like the hundredth time, but the wind always found a way in.

 

And it was on that wind that he heard something strange. A kind of crackling sound, like fire. He turned, and saw a woman standing on the hill above him, where there had, he  _ knew _ , been no one just moments before. Her dark hair was pulled back, but it was coming loose, and some strands seemed almost to be floating around her face before the wind caught them and whipped them aside. She clutched something in both hands, clinging to it.

 

Someone lost? Or maybe a mancer or Weaver of some kind, from one of the courts?  Her clothes certainly looked like court attire, not at all suited to the rough terrain out here.  He waved to the woman.  She looked up from the thing she held, and saw him. As she approached -- practically  _ stalking _ toward him -- he saw that her face was flushed, her eyes overbright. Her tail lashed behind her, almost angrily, though she didn't seem angry otherwise.

 

This woman was certainly unnerving. He took a step back, and tightened his grip on his javelin. Something about her sent shivers down his spine.

 

She shifted her small burden, some kind of black lump, to one hand and raised the other beseechingly. "Wait, please. Tell me, is there a village near here?" Her voice was not quite calm; it carried an undercurrent of something he couldn't place.

 

He raised a hand, pointed it back the way he’d came. “Long walk, though,” he warned her. “Two hours, worse if it rains.”

 

She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, it won't take  _ us _ that long," she said, tucking the black stone into her pocket. With astonishing speed, her hand shot out and grabbed his arm. The world seemed to tilt around them, and his vision went white for an instant. When it cleared, they stood at the edge of an island, a swaying bridge of rope and planks behind them and a narrow, worn path ahead. He knew the spot as well as his own reflection; his village was just over the rise there, behind a screen of stubby, windblown trees.

 

Beside him, the woman nodded to herself. She reached back, and put a hand on one of the posts anchoring the bridge. Without a word or gesture from her, the ropes of the bridge began to fray and unravel. Within moments, the bridge collapsed, twisting and whipping in the wind as it fell in pieces toward the clouds below.

 

He turned to her. “Why would you do that?! Now we can't get back!”

 

"I know," she said evenly, as her eyes glittered. "It's necessary. Sacrifices have to be made, and few will make them willingly. This will prevent... unnecessary evasion." She put a hand on his shoulder, as if in commiseration or camaraderie. "You've been helpful," she said. She smiled, a feral, sharp expression. "Thank you."

 

Starting from where her hand touched him, he felt... a pull. The strange tension spread through his whole body. He felt cold... then weak... He tried to raise a hand to push her off, but couldn't. He swayed, mouth open to protest but unable to find the strength even to form words.

  
She let go of his shoulder, and he toppled backward off the cliff. He watched the world wheel upside down, but vertigo never overtook his senses. Darkness claimed him first.


	28. Memories, Secrets, and a priest getting beaten up by wolfmen

Ren had no idea where she was. She saw a large, cozy farmhouse, lovingly accented with flowerbeds, with a glimpse of a large garden in back. Beyond the house, fields and pastures, green and gold in the late afternoon sunlight.  Nothing like the room she’d been in, before-- she couldn't remember. Glen and Cassiel had been with her, the Shikanen with the gauntlets had said something, and then….nothing.

 

A rattling rumble came from behind her, off in the distance.  She turned around, to see what had come to disturb these peaceful -- if wholly unfamiliar and unexplained -- surroundings.

 

An odd, blocky vehicle made of dull metal drove up the dirt path cut through the fields. It drove past her without stopping, pulling up in front of the house. A door swung open, and-- was that…  " _ Glen _ ?" she said, surprised. He looked... different. Younger, unscarred, dressed in overalls and a sweat-stained white shirt. But it was unmistakably him.

 

If Glen saw or heard her, he gave no sign of it as he walked towards the farmhouse. His face was set in grim lines- that, at least, was familiar. 

 

"Glen?" she called again. He didn't respond. She ran after him, and, still finding herself ignored, reached to put a hand on his shoulder. It passed right through. She stared at her own hand as he climbed the steps onto the front porch, a cold chill seeping through her.

 

He mounted the steps, and opened the screen door slowly.  Suddenly afraid to be left behind -- even if he couldn't hear, or see, or apparently feel her -- she followed him up onto the porch, then into the house.

 

The door opened into a small sitting room, a couch and a few armchairs scattered around a fireplace. She could just see someone sitting in one of those chairs, but Glen himself blocked most of her view of the stranger.

“Where. Are they,” Glen snarled.

 

Ren moved slowly closer, her confusion and the sense of foreboding only growing stronger.

 

The stranger was tall, heavily built. A mop of bedraggled black hair topped features sharp enough to be called skeletal. His eyes glowed red over a mocking smile. “Where are who?” he asked lightly.

 

“You  _ know damn well who--” _

 

“Yes, yes, the cow and her two calves,” the man replied, in an almost bored tone. “Fine.” He waved a hand, and a closet door unlocked, spilling a woman and two small children out onto the carpet, all of them bound and gagged.

 

Ren gasped and started toward them--

 

The man gestured again, and the shadows swelled under them, lancing upward. Blood spattered on the nearest wall, and Ren reeled back in horror.

 

“Oops.”

 

Glen screamed, and launched himself at the man, hands outstretched. The man rose to his feet, and backhanded him into the wall. Things broke, the wall among them. The man adjusted his coat- which looked quite familiar- before opening the door adjacent to the new hole, and stepping through.

Glen came sailing out a moment later, bleeding, his left arm in tatters. In a flash, the man was above him, a foot on his chest. “You should be grateful,” he said, as Glen writhed underneath him. “At least their deaths were quick.  _ Yours _ will not be so blessed.”

He gestured again, and a pillar of rippling shadow formed beside him. The top of it peeled back, exposing a red container.

And then the world burst into flames, then shattered, leaving Ren alone in a void.

 

Ren stumbled back and sat down hard; she pulled one knee up to her chest, huddling in on herself. She trembled all over, breathing hard and staring, wide-eyed, around at the void. Oh  _ Goddess _ ... was that... was that what happened to Glen's family? That man... that  _ monster _ ... had... had... She squeezed her eyes shut, though that did exactly nothing to block out the images of knife-sharp shadows spearing through flesh, of eyes going wide, then glassy, of blood spraying...

 

And though she knew Glen had survived whatever had come next -- fire, so much fire -- seeing him... watching the monster...  _ hurt _ him... 

 

She pressed a hand over her mouth, stifling a cry.

 

Just as suddenly as the world had vanished, a field of snow replaced it. Low mountains loomed in the distance.  She stiffened, looking around warily, and trying to pull herself together. What  _ now _ ?

 

A soft whine echoed in the distance, and more snow drifted down, but otherwise nothing happened.

 

Hesitantly, shakily, she got to her feet, wrapping her arms around herself and straining her ears for any further sound in the silent snowfall as she scanned the landscape around her.

 

Another pained whine, just as she made out a dark lump huddled against the snow.  She headed toward it, squinting against the snow’s glare as she tried to see what she was approaching.

 

Whatever it was, it wasn't moving, but as she drew closer, it became apparent that it was much larger than her, and covered in thick black fur. Closer still, and she could make out the lines of its body. It resembled nothing less than an immense rhudit.

 

She slowed, then stopped, watching the creature carefully. Was this where the pained cries had come from? It was so still now.

 

Knowing it was the height of stupidity to approach any kind of wild animal -- leaving out this one's massive size, and the fact that it might well be injured -- she moved closer anyway. Something about it…

 

It moved it's head slowly, and she froze as it looked at her with grey eyes, and emitted another whine.

 

Those  _ eyes _ ! Ren's breath caught in her throat. She knelt beside the great, black form and then... carefully, gently... laid a hand on its neck, staring at those familiar eyes in such an unfamiliar face. "It's okay," she said softly, soothingly. "It's alright."

 

The huge animal relaxed fractionally under her touch, but whined again.

 

"What's wrong?" she asked, almost pleading. Whatever it was, she wanted to fix it, make it right, make the pain in those eyes go away. Anything, to do that.

 

A voice echoed through her head.

**[Mastercalledattackedhurtshurtsangrypriest** **_hurts_ ** **]**

 

The words dropped straight into her head; they were more like concepts than words, really, and that made them clear even though they were jumbled. She knew he meant Glen, somehow; knew he was hurt; knew this "priest" -- the image of the white-robed Shikanen came to mind with this word -- had something to do with it. She stroked his thick fur gently. She had to do something. "What... what do I do? How can I help?"

 

**[Healandfollowcannotalone** **_pain_ ** **helpme]**

 

She adjusted her senses, looking in his Essence for what was hurting him. 

 

His Essence was... familiar. It had the same strange, animate quality to it that Glen's had. She thought, though she couldn't be certain, that it might even  _ be _ one of the three layers that seemed to make up Glen's Essence. But that was not a question to sort out right now.

 

The rhudit's Essence was feral, bright-burning, primal. Vibrant. But it also radiated injury and pain. She could Sense the echo of a massive blow, one that had left behind broken bones and torn flesh, bruises and bleeding deep inside.

 

She had some idea, this time, of what to do. The healer had given her some basic instruction, which was not much to go on, but better than working blind as she had with Cassiel. She reached for the damaged currents of energy, soothing them and guiding them one at a time into new paths, paths of healing and wholeness. Her work was not expert, that much she could tell, but it seemed to be working better than she might have thought.   
  
She expected it to take a toll on both her and the rhudit -- the healer had explained that that was how healing worked, by borrowing strong energy to heal weak -- yet it didn't. She felt, and saw, no drain on either of them, as the Essence flowed smoothly through the rhudit, and the wounds inside him gradually knit and closed and healed. With no reason, then, to stop, she kept going until there was nothing left of his injuries but the faint echoes of old scars.

 

The rhudit rolled to its feet and stood to its full height, before leaning down to look at her.  **[Ride]**

 

For a moment she just blinked at it. "Ride?"

 

**[Yeshurrygonow]**

 

It occurred to Ren that, really, climbing on the back of a giant rhudit was probably no greater a sign of her questionable sanity than the very fact of her current surroundings. So she did, climbing up and sitting just behind his shoulders, fingers twined into his dark fur.

 

* _ Ah. There you are.* _

The scene vanished once more, replaced by another just as quickly. They stood on a smooth white surface, blackness surrounding it. In front of them stood the white-robed Shikanen.

The black rhudit snarled.

 

Ren scowled. "Who are you?" she demanded. "Why did you attack Glen, and him?" She nodded down at the rhudit. "What is even going  _ on _ ?" As she spoke, her gaze searched right and left. Where  _ was _ Glen?

 

Above and below her were more white platforms, floating unsupported in the void. She thought she saw  _ something _ moving along the underside of one, but it was gone too quickly for her to be sure.

 

* _ Zachariah, Archon of Air. You are currently within Azrael’s mind. A structure made by him to imitate reality. I have brought you here so you know  _ exactly _ what you have been dealing with all this time.* _

 

They were  _ where _ ? This was only getting more confusing, not less. She focused on the latter part of what he'd said, about 'what she'd been dealing with'. "What is  _ that _ supposed to mean? And what does it have to do with you  _ attacking _ people?"

 

_ *You have not been harmed. Your body sleeps. As for Azrael, he attacked first. I retaliated.* _

He shrugged.  _ *I intend to show you--* _

The surface underneath him exploded upward, throwing shrapnel through the air, and the Archon vanished in a cloud of smoke. Glen, and a rhudit that could have been the white-furred twin of the one she sat on, flew out of the cloud moments later, landing with heavy thuds beside her. The cloud vanished, revealing an unmarred platform and Zachariah.

_ *Your ability to interrupt is as impeccable as ever, Operative,*  _ the Archon said.

 

"Glen!" Ren said, immensely relieved to see him. "Are you alright? What's going on?"

 

Glen glanced over his shoulder, and nearly fell over in shock. “Ren? What are you  _ doing _ here?”

 

"I have no idea," said Ren, helplessly.

 

* _ I was explaining, before you so rudely interrupted,* _ Zachariah said evenly. Glen snarled in tandem with both of the giant rhudit, and all of them took a step forward.

_ *Does she know  _ what _ you are, Azrael? Or is she fooled like the rest?* _

“Shut up,” Glen growled. “I don't know what your grudge is with me, but leave her out of it.”

_ *I know you have the child fooled well enough, but that boy has been so starved for affection you don't really have to put any effort into it. But around her? What happens if the mask comes off?* _

 

Ren frowned. Zachariah had seen Glen and Cassiel together for what, all of two minutes? He had no idea what it was like between the two of them.

 

And why did it strike her so wrong that Zachariah kept calling him 'Azrael'? What... oh. She remembered. Glen had used that name, too, when he 'reported' to Verlel. When he had gone flat and strange, all because of one word said by the wrong person in the wrong way. Was that was Zachariah was talking about?

 

“What I really don't get,” Glen said slowly, “is just what happened. We used to be friends, until Arbite--you don't hate me for killing that  _ bastard _ , do you?”

 

_ *'We’ were  _ never _ friends, Azrael,* _ Zachariah snarled.

 

“I’d like to think I-”

 

_ *You are  _ not _ Glen Carviss!*  _ Zachariah roared. _ *That man died when his home burned!  _ You _ , Azrael, are just some broken  _ thing  _ puppeting the corpse of one of my long-dead friends!* _

 

Ren slid down from the black rhudit's back, and went to Glen, putting her hand on his arm. He had gone stiff, his face pained. She glared at Zachariah. "What's wrong with you? It was  _ you _ that just showed me... what happened... wasn't it? And you're angry for what it did to him? Anyone would be changed, be broken, by... by that."

 

Zachariah began to laugh.  _ *That? No, that is not why I hate him. You truly have no idea how  _ things _ like Azrael here are made, do you, child?* _

 

"He's not a 'thing'," growled Ren, not liking any part of Zachariah's derisive tone.

 

_ *That is where you are wrong. Some scraps and tatters of humanity are all that is left to him. That is by his master's design, it makes them better  _ soldiers _ after all. No, I saw them  _ tear apart _ the remnants of my friend’s soul and put it back together to make Azrael. The beast you rode in on is one of those remnants.* _

Glen’s face could have been carved from stone.

 

Ren looked at the rhudit. It had Glen's eyes. It shared his Essence.

 

His Essence that was so strong, that was somehow more than the sum of its three parts.

 

"You make it sound like there's less of him than there should be. But when I look at Glen's Essence, there's nothing less about it. There's  _ more _ . And I don't care if he's not who he once was. I care about  _ him _ . As he is right now. Broken or not. And I don't think he's as broken as you seem to think."

 

_ *He will turn on you. The moment his programming breaks down, or finds an error, the moment his fractured mind finally breaks. The Operatives are barely-leashed monstrosities, and the one you stand next to is the most dangerous of them all.* _ He shrugged.  _ *But it matters little. It is not my hand to let the axe fall on him, but I do intend to lock him safely away. He will not be allowed to harm any other--* _

 

The world exploded into red fire and blue lightning, and she was falling--

 

Her eyes snapped open, and she was back in the busy, metal-walled room aboard the ship. She was also on the floor. Beside her, Glen sat up, and a rather frantic Cassiel immediately wrapped both arms around his neck. Ren also righted herself, putting a hand to her head with a wince.

 

A crackling rumble diverted her attention. The other two Archons had their weapons out, Lucin’s scythe pressed to Zachariah's neck, and Caror’s immense sword held against the priest’s torso. They crawled with electricity and flame, respectively.

“Would you care to explain exactly  _ what the hell you were thinking, Inquisitor?” _ Cidet said coldly.

 

_ *I-* _

 

“You know what? I don't want to hear it. Lucin, Caror, deal with him.”

Lucin grinned, and all three vanished in a flash of blue light.

 

Ren reached over and put a hand on Glen's arm, much as she had in the... vision? Dream? Whatever that had been.

 

Glen flinched away from her, and stood, letting Cassiel down gently and backing away from everyone present. His eyes darted from person to person, and he kept a tight grip on the knife at his belt.

 

Cassiel stared at Glen in confusion as Ren got to her feet. "Glen?" she said, softly.

 

Glen didn't say anything, merely shook his head and continued to back away.

 

“Glen--"   
  
Cassiel wasn't having any more of this. He followed Glen, trying to take his free hand and then, when that was pulled away, grabbing on to Glen's coat like a little anchor, his face turned up to Glen's with confusion and worry written all over it. Ren followed, until she stood right in front of him. "Glen, please. Look at me. You don't believe him, do you?"

 

Glen didn't meet her eyes as he backed himself into the corner by the door.

 

"You do..." She paused, watching him. Then she shook her head. "Okay. Don't look at me. Look at him." She kept her voice soft, and nodded to Cassiel.   
  
"You killed almost two hundred men -- armed mancers -- with him  _ right next to you _ . Whatever training you have, that makes you so dangerous, it  _ had _ to have been in effect then, or you would both be dead. But you protected him. And then you carried him back in your arms, while you had a  _ spear _ through your gut. That's not even possible for an ordinary person. I'm never going to argue with you if you say you're not normal, or even if you say you're dangerous. But do you honestly think you would ever,  _ could _ ever, hurt him?"

 

Glen looked at Cassiel, still clinging to his coat, and slowly shook his head. His free hand slowly moved, and ruffled the boy’s short brown hair.

 

Cassiel let go of the coat and put his arms around Glen instead, hugging him tight.   
  
"You're not what Zachariah thinks you are," said Ren.

 

Glen gave her a sad smile, but didn't say a word, instead kneeling down to hug Cassiel.

 

He didn't believe her. It was there in that look. Well, she would find a way to convince him, in time. As long as he didn't... 

 

Didn't...

 

She knelt beside the two of them, and hesitantly put a hand on Glen's shoulder. He didn't pull away this time. "Don't leave," she said, in a low and barely steady voice. "Just... please don't leave." Which was the most useless argument possible, and she knew it. It certainly hadn't stopped anyone before. She dropped her eyes, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, but she couldn't say anything more.

 

Glen nodded, slowly, and patted her hand.

 

Ren dropped her head against Glen's shoulder.  _ Please let him mean it, _ she thought. Or maybe prayed.  _ Please give me a chance this time... _

 

Cidet cleared his throat behind them.

 

Ren sighed and raised her head, remembering that they had an audience but finding that she didn't care overmuch.

 

Glen stood shakily, and cocked his head at Cidet.

 

“You should be going,” Cidet said. “You know the way to the shuttle bay?” Glen nodded, and walked through the door, which opened as he approached. When Ren made to follow, Cidet tapped her on the shoulder.

 

She paused and turned back.

 

“In less than a week, you and the boy have managed more progress with him than a small army of empaths, therapists, and psychologists,” he said quietly. “That boy’s been through enough pain. Keep up what you're doing.” He stepped back, letting her go.

  
Ren met his look, and nodded. Then she went after Glen and Cassiel.


	29. Cassiel learns how to talk with his hands

The ‘shuttle bay’ was….’huge’ was not a good enough word for it. Row after row after row of winged metal vehicles, shaped like great birds. It was cavernous and empty, even with the people he could see walking in it from where they had entered, the hallway Glen had led them down opening onto a high ledge with a railing and long staircase.

One of the bird-ships was out on the metal deck, and most of the people were clustered around its gleaming form. Glen headed down the staircase, still not talking.

 

It wasn't an okay kind of not talking. It was a 'something wrong' kind. Cassiel didn't understand what had happened, why Glen and Ren had fallen asleep right there just because the grey Shikanen said to, or why, when Glen woke up only a few seconds later, he had acted so strange. He didn't understand why Ren had said the things she did, either. But Glen had finally stopped acting like he wanted to run, and had hugged Cassiel back, and that was good, at least.

 

Still. Cassiel thought he'd better stay very close to Glen. Just in case.

 

They reached the bottom of the steps and moved out onto the metal deck, and it became even more apparent how big the ship sitting on the deck really was.

 

Most of the dozen or so people clustered around it were wearing armor. Two of them stood much taller than the rest, nearly as tall as Lucin had been, and they carried weapons to match their size. Three were unarmed and unarmored- instead, they wore dark, formal-looking clothes. They were the oldest-looking of any of the humans Cassiel had seen, with greying hair and actual wrinkles. But all of them were dwarfed by the sleek bulk of the ship.

Glen ghosted his way over to the group, taking up a spot next to one of the giants in armor.  Cassiel slipped in beside Glen, and a moment later -- he hadn't realized until then that she'd fallen a little behind -- Ren joined them.

 

Nobody seemed to notice them, before a door opened in the ship’s side and a woman in dark clothing, with her black hair in a tight bun, poked her head out. “Load up, we’re moving in ten.” She scanned their group for a moment as a ramp in the rear of the ship fell open with a clang. Her eyes fell on Glen and Cassiel, and she motioned for them to approach her, as the rest of the group began moving towards the ramp.

 

Glen did so, climbing the rungs recessed into the ship underneath the door the woman had used.  Cassiel followed, and Ren right behind him.

 

Inside was more cramped than Cassiel had expected, with the door opening on a narrow hall. The woman stood up in the direction of the ship's front, arms crossed. In the other direction, chairs lined the sides and center of the hall, creating aisles that led deeper into the ship.

The woman grinned. “Wasn't expecting you to be coming along, not until word came down to set up for you lot. How’ve you been, you old bastard?”

Glen shrugged, and made a series of sharp, short gestures. The woman nodded. “I heard. Guess I should introduce myself?”

Glen nodded.

The woman turned to Ren. “Miranda Fawkes. I’ll be your pilot today.” She held out her hand.

 

Ren gave Glen a worried look. But she shook Miranda's hand and offered a friendly smile. "Nice to meet you. I'm Renma, and the little guy is Cassiel."

 

“Nice to meet you. Now, you lot should get strapped in. I’ve got to warm up the shuttle.” She turned, and headed up the hallway, where the door opened for her. Cassiel caught a glimpse of blinking lights and slanted windows before it closed again.

Glen made his way over to the rows of seats, and picked one in the center rows, where they were organized in groups of three.

 

Cassiel sat on one side of Glen and Ren sat on the other, bracketing him. When they were settled, Cassiel lightly tapped Glen's arm, and mimicked one of the motions Glen had made to Miranda. She had seemed to understand it, though it hadn't been any kind of pantomime that Cassiel could tell. He tipped his head in a question.

 

Glen nodded, and pulled a slim, battered book out from his coat. It was filled with sheets of paper that jutted out from the normal pages in all directions. He tapped the title on the cover. ' _ Comprehensive Hand Signals’ _ . He handed it to Cassiel.

 

Carefully, so the loose papers wouldn't fall out, Cassiel opened it. It was full of simple drawings with captions, illustrating different ways of moving your hands to mean specific things. It was like gesturing, but so much...  _ more _ .

 

Glen smiled slightly, and took off his cap, running his hand through cropped brown hair. Cassiel realized this was the first time he’d seen Glen with his head bare. Even when they’d captured him, he’d still had his cap. Glen leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes, leaving Cassiel to his reading.

 

Cassiel spent the ride immersed in the little book. He looked up when the ship started to move, but there was nothing to see from where they were, and the ship's motion, after some unfamiliar sensations at first, settled into something he barely felt. He went back to the book.

 

He picked out a handful of the signs, and practiced them carefully. They seemed easy enough. He peeked at Glen every so often, but his eyes were always closed. He did occasionally catch Ren watching him, but she left him be, so he supposed it was alright. By the time the ship's motion changed again, he thought he had the hang of several of the quick little signals. He smiled, eager to try them out on Glen.

 

The ship thumped to a stop, and Miranda's voice came from overhead. “Alright, boys and girls, we’re stopped right in the middle of Greenstone. No natives on the scopes, so let's let our guests off first, make sure whoever's watching knows who we’re with. Old man, you’ll want to head out the back. Dropping the ramp now.”

A clang ran through the air as the ramp hit the flagstones, and Glen stood, moving towards the back of the ship.

 

Cassiel got up, too, following close on Glen’s heels. He tapped Glen's arm. When Glen looked down, he made the sign that meant 'stay together'. It was the first one he'd picked out, and he was especially glad to have it just now. He knew they'd left Greenstone because it was dangerous for them there, and he didn't like that they had to come back. He was determined not to let Glen out of his sight while they were here.   
  
Glen smiled, and nodded. 'Yes’, his hands said. 'enemy’, ‘us’, 'surrounded’. 

The back of the ship was spartan, lined with benches and heavy harnesses. Those in the group that had boarded were busy checking their weapons over, and talking quietly amongst themselves. Cassiel noticed that they grew quieter when Glen passed by them.

The ship had landed in the middle of the main courtyard, the only place in the castle large enough to contain it. Glen walked slowly down the ramp, looking around with his hands in his pockets.

 

There was, as Miranda had said, no one in the courtyard as they came out of the ship. But they were not alone. As Glen, Cassiel and Ren stepped off the ramp, a figure stepped into view on one of the walkways overlooking the courtyard. Cassiel recognized the man by his fancy armor. He'd seen him before, on the stairs as he and Glen had left the dungeon; he was the man Glen had slammed against the wall. Sure enough, he had a crooked nose now.

 

He stared at them for a beat. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes tight as if he hoped they might not be there when he looked again. They were, and he gave them a sour expression for it, mostly focused on Glen. "You've returned," he called. "How wonderful. And in a... what is that thing, some kind of... metal... ship?" He shook his head, scowling even harder. "Who did you come to kill this time? The last of my men? Or were you looking for another queen to assassinate? We haven't sorted out our royal succession yet, so you'll have to come back later for that one. If your rebel friends and their...  _ weapons _ don't beat you to it."

 

Glen still didn't speak, instead stepping aside to let the rest of the group past. The armored soldiers spread out, weapons raised, before letting the three older humans out into the open. One of the men in formal clothing looked up at the man on the walkway. “Take us to your leader,” he said, without a trace of humor.

 

Narrowed eyes and a snort met this request. "I don't know that I'm inclined to do that. You don't look very friendly." He nodded to the armed soldiers. “And I  _ know _ he’s not.” With another glare toward Glen.

 

“We’re significantly friendlier than we could be,” one of the other formal men said. “We’d like to mediate your current conflict.” He shrugged. “The three of us will enter alone, if that makes you feel any better. The soldiers are here to ensure our transport remains secure.”

 

Cassiel noticed that other guards were appearing along the walkway, though they hung back warily, eyeing the ship, the soldiers, and especially Glen with obvious displeasure and uncertainty.

 

"Mediate," said Fancy Armor, unconvinced. "Why?"

 

“There's about fifty thousand more of us above this planet right now, and they’d very much like a place to land their ships,” the third man said. “Since this court is the one with the most contact-- however…. _ unorthodox _ \-- you’re first on the list. And since civil wars tend to play havoc with diplomatic agreements, it's in both our interests to resolve this one.”

 

The soldiers lowered their weapons, the two giant ones taking a step back. Apparently they didn't regard the guards as a threat.

 

Fancy Armor gave them the look of a man who is in over his head and knows it. Finally he nodded. "Just you three. Come to that archway down there." He pointed. "I'll take you to meet with what leadership we have. Thanks to the recent loss of our queen--" this said in pointed tones, "--that's the Interim Council."

 

The most elderly of the three men nodded to his fellows, and all of them headed in the direction Fancy Armor had indicated.  One Queen's Guard and a handful of Castle Guards met them there, and led the three men into the castle.

 

Glen sighed. 'Wait’, he signed.

 

'Fun' Cassiel responded, paired with a face to make clear exactly how  _ not _ fun he found the whole situation. Ren looked back and forth between the two of them. "And here I thought you two had perfected the silent conversation  _ before _ ," she said, smiling. Her eyes were worried, though.

 

Glen smiled back, and sat down, pulling out another book, this one much thicker than the book of hand signals. Leaning back against the hull of the ship, he began to read.  Cassiel settled himself next to Glen, leaning against his side. Ren stayed on her feet, still and tense, and watched the guards up above just as closely as they were watching back.

  
They waited.


	30. Missions are added

Being mute was an exercise in frustration. It’d happened before, but that didn't make it any less  **[annoying]** . At least Cassiel learned hand signals fast.

Still, not being able to ask questions was a pain. But every time he thought of speaking, the words caught somewhere. It wouldn't stop until he'd managed to relax, and small chance of that happening here.

Miranda came out of the shuttle after the first few minutes, and managed to distract Ren with conversation. Good of her, to do that. She'd been the cavalry on numerous missions, and it paid to be kind to your air support. He listened with half an ear.

 

"...noticed you understood the hand signals," Ren was saying. "Is that... Does that happen? That he stops talking? Is he alright?" There was concern in her tone, and she kept her voice low, probably not realizing he could hear her anyway. "I don't want to push him, asking questions, and make it worse. But I'm worried."

 

“It happens from time to time,” Miranda said in a low voice. “Usually when something goes wrong. He’ll be alright in a day or so. Best thing you can do….well, learn the signals, stick close, and keep an eye on him. He’ll come 'round. Or, well, he should. Not so sure now.” She paused. “To everyone who knew him, in the fleet now, it's only been a couple hours since he left. But to him….he spent  _ six years _ alone.”

 

Huh. He hadn't thought of that tangle. He wondered if his enlistment was up now. The Confederacy might owe him six years of back pay.

 

Ren nodded. "I hope he knows he's not alone anymore," she said, so softly he almost didn't catch it.

 

Silly woman. He knew that very well.

_ [I would not let you forget it. Emotional attachment is good if you plan to retire soon.] _

Except….well, if she knew  _ everything _ , would she still be so stubbornly attached?

* _ He will turn on you* _ , Zachariah's voice echoed.

He wasn't a  _ machine _ . He had free will. Didn't he? Hurting her….no, there was no way he could see himself doing it. But was that only because it wouldn't be  _ him _ doing the deed? Just his programming, that coldly logical half that opposed Id.

_ It _ might. If someone convinced it that the mission was at stake, it would.

_ [Negative. Invalidates primary missions.] _

What the-- list missions.

_ [Two primary missions. Protection of Target Cassiel. Protection of Asset Renma. One secondary mission. Protection of self.] _

Huh. How 'bout that. Muscles he hadn't known he'd been tensing unknotted, and Glen grinned. “You know, I can hear everything you're saying.”

 

Ren looked over at him, surprised. Then she grinned back. " _ Good _ . And even better, I can hear you. I'm still going to want to borrow that little book you showed Cassiel, though." She studied him for a moment. "You okay?" Still smiling, but he could tell it was a serious question.

 

He shrugged, and tapped the side of his head. “Figured some things out. Getting better.”

 

The smile reached her eyes now, and she nodded.

 

He turned back to his book, continuing to read quietly. But now he  _ could _ speak, and that was what mattered.

 

Next to him, Cassiel signed 'look', and nodded toward the archway at the end of the courtyard.

 

The diplomats- no, that was Cor walking towards them.

 

Cor paused just inside the courtyard. He eyed the ship, and the soldiers arrayed around it, and then looked up at the guards on the walkways above. The latter made no move as he stepped out into the open, though they watched him closely. Apparently they were disinclined to raise their weapons with the soldiers present. Smart of them.

 

He was not visibly armed; possibly the first time Glen had seen him without his sword at his hip. He approached calmly, though his eyes were watchful and he did not pass too close to any of the soldiers -- especially the two in huge powered armor, who inspired nervous tail twitching from several meters away -- as he made his way over to where Glen sat.

 

"Hello again Glen, Renma. Cassiel," he said. "You three vanished rather suddenly, not that I was surprised. I have to say, I didn't expect you back. And certainly not in..." he looked up at the ship, looming beside them, "...such a remarkable manner."

 

Glen shrugged. “Some of my people decided to make an appearance.”

 

"Impressive," said Cor. He didn't sound concerned,  _ exactly _ , but definitely not overly pleased.

 

“You should probably send someone to talk with the Council,” he said slowly. “They’ll be much more open to talking now.”

He almost pitied the Council, stuck in the room with those diplomats.

 

Cor nodded slowly, and a little of the tension in his shoulders eased. "I hope you're right. Attempts at negotiation have not gone well so far. When we saw... your people... going to meet the Council..." His expression turned wry. "I'm sure you can understand why it didn't seem to bode well."

 

“True,” Glen admitted. “But we're not going to sell you out. Verlel’s the one at fault, after all.”

 

"The Council does not see it that way," said Cor, with a tired sigh. "Especially as Verlel herself is still nowhere to be found." He raised an eyebrow. "And about your return? Unless you want a fight or a death sentence, I'd advice  _ you _ be nowhere to be found yourselves, and soon. They aren't well-disposed toward you and Renma, either."

 

“They won't get a chance to do anything, and if they're smart, they won't even try,” he said. 

 

"Not all of them  _ are  _ very smart, I'm afraid," said Cor.

 

“Then you might want to start moving people out of the castle. Retaliation for us tends to be….explosive.”

 

Cor gave him a wide-eyed look. "That's... ah. Yes. Well." He blinked, then shook his head, pulling himself together. "Well. If you say your people will see our side heard, along with the Council’s, then I'd best get someone into that meeting in short order. Let's hope wiser heads prevail." His expression darkened briefly. "And that the 'honored' Lord Sheshne chokes on his tongue when it counts most," he muttered under his breath.

 

“I think we're all hoping for that.” Sheshne  had been one of the queen's few advisors, the highest-ranking one, in fact. By turns sycophant and grandstander, charismatic when he wanted to be but arrogant and dismissive the rest of the time, it was both disappointing and unsurprising that he had found his way in among the court’s temporary leadership.  In the Commonwealth, he’d never have made it into power in the first place. And the Confederacy would probably have had him shot for incompetence. Which meant the diplomats would despise him.

 

Cor smiled slightly. Just as he turned to go, however, a Queen’s Guard stepped out into the courtyard.  He approached the shuttle nervously, stopping well short of it. “Renma of the Reaches?” he said cautiously. “The Council would like to speak with you. Come with me.”

 

Glen stood, and signed for Cassiel to follow him. “Not without us,” he said, staring the Guardsman down.  The man looked almost ready to run at the mere suggestion. But he nodded jerkily. Ren gave Glen a grateful look.

 

"I'll come too, shall I?" said Cor cheerfully, obviously enjoying the Guard's discomfort. He strolled toward the castle, pausing to wait for them at the archway. The moment Ren moved to follow, the Guard hurriedly took the lead, apparently eager to maintain a healthy distance between himself and Glen.

  
He hoped the rest of the Council felt the same way. They'd be less likely to cause trouble. 


	31. Snakes snakes snakes

Ren walked into the room the council had claimed for itself -- formerly a royal audience chamber, the empty throne now keeping silent watch over a long table that had been set up below the dais -- feeling almost sick with nerves. The men and women of the Interim Council sat on one side of the table, and the three diplomats from the ship sat on the other. All of them looked up as Ren and the others came in, and even having Glen with her did not make Ren feel any better about facing those stares.

 

She knew a few of the faces, and even fewer names -- Lady Cosla, the First Archivist; Lord Deshm, Grand Mancer; Lady Grenmat, the High Healer -- but none had she ever actually met before, only seen and heard of.

 

Grenmat switched her gaze to Glen, and her eyes narrowed.  Did she recognize him as the man who had brought her the pendants for the children? It seemed so. Ren felt the first flicker of hope that this meeting might not go _ entirely  _ wrong.

 

A tall man, slightly heavy, with thinning blonde hair, spoke up. “I believe we only requested _ one _ witness,” he said loftily.

 

Cor stepped forward.  "You did, Lord Sheshne," he said courteously. "But there are several of us who have testimony to share, so it seemed prudent that we should come as well. It seems to me that the Council would want to hear multiple viewpoints, so as to have the most complete picture of events and circumstances possible."

 

Sheshne harrumphed. “Very well. You, Weaver girl. You’ll be answering our questions.”

 

Had she thought things might go well? Nope. Not going well. And they'd barely started. She nodded, and managed to say, albeit quietly, "Renma."

 

“What?"

 

"My name..." Ren caught herself playing nervously with her bracelet, and stopped.

 

Sheshne gave her a long-suffering look. "I'm aware."

 

Oh. Alright then.

 

Grenmat leaned forward in her chair. “Your friend there claimed the Bond was the source of the sickness. Would you please explain how you discovered this?”

 

Ren nodded. "Well... um. You... you know I'm a Weaver. I… I can..." Deep breath, slow down. Explain. "What mancers take for granted as the unseen source powering their Workings, I can see as currents of energy. It's always there, not just in spells but in everything. People. Objects. Places. It--"

 

"Is a a product of your own mind," said Deshm, cutting her off. "Little children have such imaginings, but they grow out of it.  _ Your _ people foster the idea, and use these-" he waved a dismissive hand, "-'mental images' as focuses to create your rudimentary spells, your so-called 'Weavings'. You're not  _ seeing _ anything. There's nothing to see. It's all just metaphor, a crude substitution for proper symbols and focal objects."

 

"But. That's... not true," said Ren, shaking her head. "I  _ can _ see it. And I can see the Bond. That's how--"

 

"If your whole explanation is going to be based on something you can  _ supposedly _ see, that no one else here can, and which a proper expert in the field of magic use assures us does not even exist..." Sheshne shook his head. "Well, I don't think it's even worth our time. Do you have any kind of  _ proof _ ? Do you have anything  _ verifiable _ at all?"

 

"It... that's how I knew. I... I don't have anything else," said Ren, defeated.

 

“She made a cure where every mancer failed,” Glen said, stepping forward. “Based entirely on what she saw, working with alien magic, using a talent you refuse to acknowledge.” He nodded to Grenmat. “Tell me, Lady, was what I delivered sufficient? I never had the opportunity to find out for myself.”

 

"Absolutely," Grenmat answered immediately. "The pendants improved the condition of every child in my healers' care, to the extent that many of them might never have been ill at all."   
  
"It was  _ you _ who provided this cure?" said Lady Cosla, speaking up for the first time.   
  
Ren nodded. Cosla brightened, looking impressed.   
  
Sheshne did not. "How convenient," he drawled. "You provided a cure for an ailment only you knew the cause of. A cause no one else can verify. And let me guess: a cure no one else can duplicate?"

 

“Incorrect. Once she found a way to make an equivalent structure, all the mancers we had were able to make the pendants,” Glen said, staring Sheshne down. He smiled thinly. “And perhaps if you had more than one Weaver, you would have had that cure sooner.”

 

One of the diplomats- the one in the center of the trio- rapped on the table. “If both of you are quite finished? We can, in fact, have someone verify the cause.”

 

"How?" asked a man near the end of the table, who hadn't spoken yet. He was a member of the Castle Guard, but that was only clear from the design on his tunic; he wore no armor, and carried no weapon, in stark contrast to the man beside him -- the crooked-nosed Queen's Guard who had met them on their arrival -- who had set aside neither armor nor armament, despite the supposedly diplomatic setting.

 

“From what we know, Verlel used a teleport spell to escape. We trace that, track her down, and either extract evidence there or drag her back to answer to this Council. Either way, you get verification that the cause is precisely what we have told you.” 

Another of the diplomats- on the left- spoke up the moment the other fell silent. “And there are ways to verify a difference in magical talent, at least among our own people. That would satisfy your demand for proof of Weaving. We could test the people here- we have Weaver, mancer, and blindhorn together in one room.”

 

"Sounds promising to me," said Cosla, looking around at the others. Grenmat nodded.

 

But even as Sheshne was deploying his best scowl, the man beside him, who looked no happier than he did, spoke up. " _ If _ you can produce Verlel and  _ if _ what she has to say confirms these claims, then we might be able to get somewhere. But I, for one, am skeptical that that is even possible. Verlel seems to me to be serving as a rather convenient scapegoat, and somehow I don't think anyone will be able to find her." He looked very pointedly at Glen and Ren.

 

"I agree," said Sheshne, vindicated.

 

“And our other request?” Left Diplomat asked.

 

The man on Sheshne's other side nodded. "I'd quite like to see the results of a test like that," he said, sounding curious and eager. Both Sheshne and his sidekick turned tight-lipped glares on him. He looked at them in reproachful surprise. "What? It would be interesting just on general principle, and certainly illuminating in regards to the issues at hand."

 

Left Diplomat looked to the diplomat seated farthest away from him, who nodded and drew a thick metal disc from under his suit jacket. He tossed it onto the floor next to him, but it floated rather than hitting the ground.

The shape of an immense, orange, skull-headed serpent formed in an instant, outlined in lines of orange light. It loomed over the table, coiling itself up into a tower of shining scales.

“Hello,” Nemesis said chirpily.

 

Ren almost felt guilty for how much she enjoyed Sheshne's reaction to this. He screamed -- actually screamed, at a higher pitch than she thought even she would be capable of -- and shoved himself back from the table so hard that his chair tipped over, tangling his legs as he jumped to his feet. He tripped and fell right into his sidekick's lap.

 

To be fair, he wasn't the only one taken by surprise. Several others at the table jumped in their seats, and Lady Cosla also screamed. But not as loudly as Sheshne had. He was still trying to disentangle himself from his poor neighbor. The others looked on in shock, and some who might otherwise have been rather upset by Nemesis's appearance found themselves much more alarmed by him than they were by the giant, glowing serpent.

 

Lady Grenmat was not upset by either. She had a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

 

Ren didn’t bother to hide her own grin. Cassiel looked up at Glen, also grinning, and made one of his newly acquired hand signals.  Glen was visibly trying not to laugh, but he regained enough composure to sign back.

 

“Was it something I said?” Nemesis asked innocently.

 

Sheshne finally managed to find his feet, and stumbled back from the table. He righted his chair and stood behind it, gripping the back with both hands as if ready to pick it up and wield it as a weapon. His face had gone completely pale, save for a splotch of red on each cheek. Funny what the combination of fear and well-earned embarrassment could do to a man's complexion. 

 

Nemesis leaned forward, as much as a snake could be said to lean, her upper portion uncoiling so she could move her head closer to the Council. Her tongue flickered out, nearly touching Sheshne.  He made an odd little keening sound, standing frozen to the spot.

 

“Is nobody going to ask anything? You lot are practically bathing in magic, you should be used to sights like this by now,” she said, withdrawing.

 

"What is this, some kind of illusion?" asked Deshn, at the same time that a man in the attire of a Blessed, seated at the far end of the table and until now taking almost no interest in the proceedings, raised his head and said, "It's a godbeast come among us," in an awed tone.

 

Despite having a serpentine skull for a head, and therefore lacking eyebrows, Nemesis somehow raised one. “A little of both. I am tAI-808o. I am called Nemesis. Who are you?”

 

"Tohn," answered the Blessed, looking slightly confused but still hopeful.

 

“Sorry to disappoint you, Tohn, but I have no relation to any deities. Never met any. Mister Carviss has, though, if you want to talk to him.” She shook her head. “Now, where was I? Right, you wanted to test them…”

 

Tohn settled patiently into his chair, once again receding from the conversation, but he gave Glen a look of pointed interest.

 

"You can tell what kind of magic a person is capable of?" asked the man who had so supported the idea of the test to begin with.

 

Nemesis nodded. “Magic affects brain structure, and the other way around.” A pause, and the disc Right Diplomat had tossed floated close to the questioner. “If you hold this, I’ll be able to scan your nervous system, and compare your brain with Renma’s. Are you mancer or blindhorn?”  Ren blinked. She remembered Nemesis mentioning that she and Cassiel had 'interesting biology', but she hadn't realized the creature had gotten quite so good a look that it had included brain scans.

 

The man hesitated.

 

"Go on, Daelak, your curiosity got you into this, you can't back out now," said Grenmat.

 

Daelak shrugged, and took hold of the disc. "Blindhorn," he said, eyeing the item in his hands warily.

 

A light on its edge blinked red, then green. “Thank you. Any of the mancers here wish to volunteer?” Nemesis asked cheerily.

 

"Lord Deshn, Commander Kerranin, and Second Advisor Sorar are all mancers," said Cosla helpfully. "And Lady Grenmat is a healer, which is a very specific branch of the mancer arts."

 

"I'd be happy to do it," said Grenmat. "Though I think one of the others should as well. I'm actually rather curious to know if there's a difference, myself." Daelak passed her the disc, and she took it carefully.

 

Once again, the light blinked red, then green, and Nemesis cocked her head. “Interesting….” she hissed softly.

 

Deshn scowled. "Oh fine.  _ I'll _ do it. If only to prove to all of you what I've been saying." He grudgingly accepted the disc from Grenmat. Red light. Green. "There," he said. "Happy now?"

 

“Extremely.”

 

"What did you find?" asked Daelak.

 

"The region of your brains that interacts with magic is very clear," said Nemesis. "In you, Daelak, it is present but undeveloped. Your species' term, 'blindhorn', is apt; the others have specialized nerve clusters in their horns, which connect to the area of the brain in question. Your horns are not innervated at all, and thus the corresponding area of your brain is completely inactive." 

 

She turned to Grenmat and Deshn. "Your horns  _ are _ innervated, but the nerve is atrophied. The part of your brain that interacts with magic, however, is intact and fully functional. This suggests to me that, while you are capable of manipulating magic, you can't 'see' what you're doing while you do it. That would explain your use of spells and external focuses, and why you need them but Renma does not." 

 

Ren looked up as Nemesis turned to her. "Which brings me to you, Renma. You have the most fully developed system. The nerves in your horns are active and well-developed, as is the associated region of your brain. You can manipulate magic, and yes, you can perceive it. In a sense, however, Deshn is right: you don't 'see' magic. Your brain is making use of a phenomenon called synesthesia, which is where one sense is interpreted by the brain as another. For example, sound being interpreted as color. It happens in humans, too, though it's rare. For you, it means that you perceive magic, which is intangible energy, through the lens of other senses, mainly vision, even though it does not actually have a visual component any more than sound has a color.”

 

There was silence for a moment. Grenmat broke it first. "Well Deshn, it looks like you were almost not wrong. Good for you."

 

Deshn gave her a withering look. She failed to wither, and smiled at him instead.

 

“I have pictures, too,” Nemesis said. “If anyone wants to look.” She glared at Sheshne and Deshn alternately. “So both of you, stop dismissing an actual witness based on your silly prejudices.”

 

Sheshne managed a stiff nod, still pale and watching Nemesis like she might try to eat him at any moment. Deshn muttered something that sounded suspiciously derogatory, though Ren couldn't actually make out the words. But audibly, he said only, "Yes, fine. The Weaver sees things. Understood."   
  
Sorar, Sheshne's sidekick, shook his head. "Alright. Accepting that, we're still left with the fact that even if she saw something, the rest of us can't. You say you can bring Verlel before us. I don't think you can. But if you could, then, assuming your stories are true and you and she were working at cross purposes, her testimony supporting Renma's would be better proof than any claims Renma might make on her own."

 

Center Diplomat nodded. “Nemesis, where is Lucin at the moment?”

 

“One sec….ah, he’s back on the flagship now,” she said. She turned to Glen. “And the Inquisitor looks much worse for wear.” She swiveled back as Glen managed a stiff nod. “I just contacted him. He’ll be here right about--”

 

A lightning bolt slammed into the stone in front of the Council's table, a crash of misplaced thunder rippling through the air. Lucin was suddenly  _ there _ , arms folded, pulsing with power that made Ren’s horns ache from this close. The ache diminished and vanished as the blue glow around the Shikanen did the same.

“--now.”

“You rang?” Lucin asked.

 

The Council responded better than they had to Nemisis, if only because Sheshne was already somewhat out of the way and, apparently, not afraid of anything -- even giant, two-legged rhudit crackling out of thin air like an errant lightning bolt -- quite so much as he was of snakes. His knuckles whitened as he increased his grip on the back of his chair, but otherwise he didn't move. Kerranin, though, leapt to his feet with his hand on his sword, and the otherwise stoic Castle Guard beside him sat bolt upright. There were gasps and surprised cries from the others; even Grenmat went wide-eyed. Tohn, however, turned the same kind of look on Lucin that he had given Nemesis.   
  
Lucin ignored this, and his head swung up and over, pointing towards what she knew was the location of the tower room. “Hmm….” he mused quietly. “Yeah, that's it. Where's--”

 

“Here,” Nemesis said.  An image appeared, transparent in midair, of a cluster of islands as seen from above. Very  _ far _ above. They formed a kind of spiral, larger ones toward the outer edges, smaller and lower down toward the center of the formation. They looked for all the world like a spiral staircase, sized for a giant.

 

“Right. I can follow that,” Lucin said. “Probably should bring along some soldiers, too.” 

 

"That looks like the Godsteps," said Lady Cosla. "Are you saying that's where Verlel has gone? Why would she go there?"   
  
"Why not?" asked the Castle Guard. "Isolated, unpopulated, far away from here. It's as good a place to run to as any."   
  
"It's populated," said Cosla. "Censuses have been--"   
  
"Minimally populated, then, and with nothing but misfits and hard-ups. Nobody that would ask questions, nobody that could give her much trouble. She is a mancer, and a good one."   
  
" _ And _ a Weaver," said Ren. "More than either, now. What she took... it was pure power."

 

“Not powerful enough,” Lucin said. “That I can guarantee.” He nodded to the diplomats. “I have clearance?”

 

“Already signed off on,” Nemesis said. “Take who you want.”

 

“Hmm. Any of you lot want to come along?” Lucin asked, looking the Council over.

 

"We can hardly send anyone  _ here _ ," said Sorar. "We're the Interim Council. There are matters to be deal with."

 

This was met with agreement -- some more enthusiastic than others -- by the rest of the council.

 

Lucin shrugged. “Fine by me. I’ll leave two of your soldier boys, but I’m taking that shuttle,” he said. He started out of the chamber, then turned to Ren, Glen, and Cassiel. “You lot too. Come on.”

  
Glen followed Lucin, and of course Cassiel followed Glen, Ren right behind them. Cor gave them a nod as they passed. Ren felt that, between going out to face Verlel and her artifact of power, or staying here to deal with the Council, she preferred Verlel by far.


	32. Miranda is best pilot

Most people would have been shocked at the appearance of an Archon where he hadn't been before. Miranda Fawkes was not most people. Years spent as the go-to pilot for what was typically referred to as C.H.A.S.M (Crazy, Heart-Attack Starting Mayhem) missions tended to leave one numb to odd occurrences. Compared to extraction of an Operative team from a falling orbital space station, a lightning-infused wolfman was outright boring.

So when Lucin appeared with Glen, Renma, and the kid in tow, she barely raised an eyebrow before heading into her shuttle and up into the cockpit. She started warming the ship up, and risked a glance back into the passenger compartments. Sure enough, most of the soldiers were boarding, followed closely by the Archon and his entourage. Two of the ground-pounders were staying outside, the minimum needed to provide security.

“Hey, can you put this thing into a hover?” the Archon asked, and she nodded as she put on her crash helmet. Another row of switches flipped, and she took hold of the stick, pulling the craft up until it held steady a few meters off the ground.

Blue light flashed, and abruptly she was somewhere else.

 

It was still Domhan; the planet's signature floating islands were present in abundance. But they hung in an unusual formation. Where the islands everywhere else were roughly level with each other -- no more than two kilometers or so difference in their altitudes -- these dropped lower and lower from one to the next, until the lowest ones vanished into the heavy cloud layer that clogged the planet's lower atmosphere. They formed a spiral on their way down, almost like rough-hewn, free-floating steps, with a completely clear area in the center.

Off to the side-- to the southwest, a check of the compass confirmed-- of the huge formation, another island was burning, thick streaks of smoke rising up from a location near its edge. She began flying towards it. 

The Archon poked his head in again. “Fly towards-- dammit, are you psychic or something?”

She shook her head. “Obvious. Only place where something's happening.”

He snorted, and withdrew.

 

As she got closer, a village became visible through the haze of smoke. If it could be called a village. It was a dozen or so round, wooden hogans in a loose circle, with one much larger than the others off to one side. The larger structure was the source of the smoke; it had burned almost to the ground, the remains of its timber walls still smoldering.

 

“Looks like something hit this place hard, folks,” she said into the mic connected to the passenger bay speakers. “Hope you packed medkits. Stay sharp- whoever did this could still be hanging around.”

She set down carefully in the center of the village, and dropped the ramp. “Good hunting.”

She didn't know what they were going after, and she didn't particularly care. Given who was going after her, whoever they were, the poor bitch was pretty much doomed.

Looking at the burning remnants of the largest house, she decided she could live with that.


	33. Verlel makes a big mistake

They'd spent the ride in the troop bay proper rather than the tacked-on VIP section --why that was on a military craft, he hadn't the slightest idea-- and so he was able to be the first one out. The smell of smoke was familiar. There had been hundreds of missions that started this way, some hamlet or another attacked. He unslung his rifle and put on his mask, letting the filters scrub out the stench. There were bodies in that fire.

He felt more than saw the other soldiers spread out beside him, rifles up. Textbook work, the two in heavy armor out front. He wondered what those gauss cannons would do to Verlel if they got the chance to fire.

 

Ren and Cassiel were right behind him, hanging back a couple meters like he'd asked. What he'd really wanted was for them to stay on the shuttle, but neither had been willing to even consider it. Getting them to stay back a little was the best compromise he could get from either one.

 

“We’ve got movement,” one of the soldiers said over comms. “House, on the left.”

Rifles snapped up, bracketing the house in question as two of the soldiers ran towards the door- hey, they had doors here! Good to know not all Demeki failed to understand basic architecture- and carefully began to open it.

 

They were met by a gruff, elderly voice, demanding that they “Stay back!” in shaken but forceful tones.

 

The soldiers gave each other looks. They'd been given Verlel’s description, and she wasn't elderly. The two at the door took a step back.

“Sir, we're here to help,” one said.

 

“Who are you?” asked the voice, suspicious.

 

“Soldiers,” the man replied through the crack in the door. “We're chasing someone, tracked her here. A woman, with strong magic.”

 

The door opened slightly, and an old man peered out, squinting at them through eyes clouded with cataracts. “Her that did this is gone. Leave us be.”

 

“We have medical supplies. We can help, if you’ve got injured.”

Glen stepped forward. “Which way did she go?” he asked, mask making his words flat and mechanical. Thank God this man was near blind- they didn't have time for him freaking out over them not being Demeki.

 

"I don't know. I weren't here when she came." The old man hesitated. "Come in and ask Ori. If you can get two words out of her." He reluctantly stepped back, opening the door for them. "Bring your medicine, if you've got it. And... will you help the others, too?" He pointed out two of the other hogans, presumably the ones with ill or injured inside. "I couldn't move them..."

 

“Right,” the soldier said. Glen paused for a moment, mentally slapped himself, and turned on his HUD. Names appeared over every soldier. Ah. Lieutenant Welcozwitz. That explained why he was taking charge.

“Mitchell, Price, take that one. Stevens, Winters, you’re on the other.”

The soldiers did as ordered, slinging weapons and drawing medkits from their belts.

Glen walked into the hogan, motioning for Ren and Cassiel to follow him inside. He slung his own weapon. Wouldn't be much use in close quarters anyway.

 

There was an iron stove in the middle of the round room, venting straight up through the roof. A low table, a single cupboard, baskets of clothes, blankets, other goods. A bed big enough for two. But where... then he found the room's only other occupant. A woman, sitting on the floor beside what looked like a round cradle, rocking gently, mindlessly. She was pale as a ghost, and her eyes were vacant. In her arms, something smooth and leathery and creamy white, maybe thirty centimeters long and half that in diameter. Was that... an egg?

 

Behind him, Ren's voice, very soft. "Oh no..." She slipped past Glen, and went to kneel in front of the woman. The woman gave no sign that she knew Ren was there.

 

“She was like this when I came in,” said the old man, hovering in the doorway.

 

"Ori?" said Ren. No answer. Ren looked down at the egg for a moment, eyes unfocused in the way that meant she was using her Sense. Then she looked away, expression pained. Ori only went on rocking silently.

 

“What happened?” Glen asked softly. He had a suspicion, but…

 

"No draw on her now," said Ren, voice low, "but her Essence is badly drained. The... the egg..." she went quiet, mouth opening but no words coming out.

 

"He isn't moving," said Ori, almost a moan. "I can't get him warm. Why can't I get him warm?"

 

He felt a stinging sensation in his palms. He looked down, and discovered he’d clenched his hands into fists so hard the nails had broken the skin. “Can you help her?” he asked, straining to keep his voice level.

 

Ren hesitated. Then she spoke to Ori again. "Give him to me, Ori, alright? I'll put him back in his nest."

 

"He's cold..."

 

"I know. Let's get him in the nest. Here... that's right... alright... it's alright..."

 

Ren got the dead egg out of the woman's grip and carefully, tenderly even, nestled it in the round cradle. Without the egg to hold on to, Ori sagged, shaking. Ren put her arms around the woman, and laid one hand on Ori's chest. Ren's eyes changed focus again, and after a moment Ori's ragged breathing slowed and her hands, grasping at empty air, relaxed into her lap. Ori's eyes cleared, but the pain in them only redoubled, and she leaned into Ren's embrace, finally breaking down in tears.

 

From outside, another voice. Someone else sobbing.

 

“Stay with her,” he said to Ren, before turning. Breath in. Breath out. Stable. Mindless rage would not give that woman  **[vengeance.]**

He stalked out of the hogan, every muscle tensed, and headed towards the sound.  Cassiel followed him.

 

It came from another of the houses, and the moment he stepped inside, he found more death. Only steps from the door, two very small, very much unmoving forms lay prone on the floor. Winters was just spreading a white sheet over them as Glen came in. He looked up, and shook his head.

 

Further in, Stevens had his medkit open, standing over a girl in her mid-teens who sat on the edge of a bed with a thermal blanket around her shoulders. She was the one sobbing.

 

"--everyone in, she sealed the door. I heard fighting... p-people screaming... then I felt... so cold. Cold and weak. Breva and Alet... they... they just..." She stopped, choking on the words. "And then the fire... and  _ she _ walked out, and nobody else did... it all burned... every... everyone... every... one..." She slipped into incoherence, sobbing again.

 

Young. Too young to have this happen. He moved closer, exchanged a look with Stevens. The soldier nodded, and stepped back.

He reached out, put a hand on the girl's shoulder.

 

She looked up at him, thick tears spilling down her cheeks, but wasn’t really focused on him.  Which was probably a blessing, given his mask . "Wh-why," she asked. "Why would she do this?"

 

“Because she's a spiteful, power-hungry psychopath,” he said bitterly. “I don't know what she wants, but I need to know where she's going. She’ll face justice when we find her.”

 

The girl dropped her head, shoulders shaking, but one hand came out from under the blanket and pointed, due north, straight toward the formation the Council had called the Godsteps. "Th-that way," she said.

 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and he turned to go. Lucin stood outside the door with a worried expression. He nodded. “Right in the middle of the Godsteps,” he said, and the Archon nodded.

“Who’re we taking?”

Lucin considered. “I’ll have the pilot take her shuttle and follow us, but...really, I’d rather have just you along. None of the others have defense against magic.”

 

Immediately, Cassiel stepped forward, looking up at Glen with a look of inarguable determination. He signed ‘no!’, 'stay together', 'go', and then, with added emphasis ' _ stay together _ ' again.

 

Glen nodded, and pulled out one of the mancer pendants he’d squirreled away, putting it over Cassiel's neck. He looked to Lucin. “I’m staying far out of the way anyway. Still squishy, unlike you.” Lucin nodded again, before turning to Miranda-- who was already warming up the shuttle again.

“Are you  _ sure _ she's not psychic?” he muttered, as the ship lifted off and headed north.

“No, but ‘she’  _ does _ have a tap on comms,” he heard Miranda say.

Grumbling something vaguely derogatory under his breath in Shikanen, Lucin teleported them again. When the light cleared, they  were on an island, a small one, maybe ten meters across at best, halfway down the Godsteps. Standing at the edge, facing the dropoff with her arms out wide and her face tipped upward, was Verlel. In front of her, faint traceries of colored light ran through the air, winding and twisting up through the clouds below and into the sky. Her hair had come loose and was blowing wild in the wind, and her tail lashed, her whole body tense. As they landed, she startled, looking over her shoulder without lowering her arms. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. "You," she said, and her voice was fevered, sharp.

 

“Me,” Glen agreed. Then he shot her.

 

A red barrier appeared just in time for the bolt of plasma to slam into it, splashing harmlessly across the surface. Disappointing, but no shock. It was enough, though, that she lowered her arms and turned to face them. She scoffed. "As if that could possibly touch me. You have no clue what you've walked into."

 

“Don't care.” Lucin said, raising his scythe. “Giving you one chance to come quietly, since I’m required to. Please  _ don't _ take it,” he growled.

Another flash of blue, and he and Cassiel were suddenly on an adjoining island.

 

Verlel's gaze found them, briefly, but then she turned back to Lucin and said something, dismissively turning her back on him.

 

Lightning slammed into her barrier, and cracks appeared as the frequency and size of the bolts increased, Lucin advancing with his scythe held in front of him.

 

She spun back toward him, face etched with rage, and threw her hands up in front of her. The barrier thickened and darkened, the cracks healing over as if they'd never been, and the barrier began to suck down the lightning like dry ground sucking up the rain.

 

And that was when Caror fell on top of her. The entire island exploded in a blaze of ash and smoke as the Archon hit from above like an angry thunderbolt.

 

The barrier contracted around Verlel as she curled up against the onslaught, but it didn’t break. Instead it hovered in the air as the remnants of the island fell out from under the three. Then it began to feed on Caror, too, the fire that wreathed him being drawn into the pulsing red sphere in gusts. It grew again, and Verlel righted herself inside it, shouting something Glen couldn't hear.

 

At which point Miranda arrived. The shuttle’s chin turret spooled up and began firing bolts of plasma into the barrier as the Archons fell back.

Glen shook his head, and raised his own rifle, sending his own small contribution Verlel’s way.

 

Every blast was stopped and absorbed, but inside the sphere, Verlel was growing irate, hands curled into claws, tail whipping about her legs, her face twisted into a snarl. She turned suddenly, setting eyes on Glen. She shouted again, and this time he could hear her, the words echoing in his head.

 

_ \--This is your doing, Carviss! I know it is! Call them off. You are  _ interfering in my work _!-- _

 

“Your work killed children, witch,” he snarled, carefully firing another bolt into her center of mass. “Don't particularly care about it.” Another bolt, and he paused to reload. “Think I’ll enjoy seeing you burn.”

 

_ \--No. Listen!-- _ She shook her head.  _ \--You know nothing of what I do here. Sacrifice is never easy. Death is the price that Must. Be. Paid. It is the only way I could seize the power I need.-- _

 

“Oh, the greater good, is it? Seen what happens when that's your justification. Worlds burn. Should have found a way around death,” he muttered. Two more shots, and a missile from the shuttle, exploded against the barrier. “Too late for that now.”

 

_ \--You are a fool, and you will never understand! Fine.-- _

 

Beside him, the pendant around Cassiel's neck lifted into the air. Cassiel stared at it in bewilderment, and before either he or Glen could react, it was yanked forward. Cassiel stumbled as the cord went tight and suddenly snapped, and the pendant flew over the edge of the island. In the next instant, Cassiel went limp, dropping to the ground in a heap.

 

_ \--Call them off, and the boy lives. Continue to interfere with my work, and I will kill him. Is  _ that _ something you can understand?-- _ Verlel snarled.

 

He moved faster than he thought possible, dropping rifle and coat and pulling off vest.

 

_ \--And drop that gods-cursed vest, or I will finish the boy right now.-- _

 

_ [Mission endangered. Analyze…] _

**[Nonononono]**

_ [Lycaon Protocol unlocked. Go with God.] _

A half-remembered cadence dropped into his mind, and he dropped the vest.

“Everyone, fall back,” he said evenly.

“But--” Miranda started.

“Do it.”

The shuttle ceased strafing, and Lucin and Caror returned to floating a considerable distance away.

Glen drew his knife. It slashed across his palm with quick precision, and blood welled, staining the blade. At least he wouldn't have to clean it later.

 

“By blood and bone, we are bound.”

“By flesh and fire, we are free.“

A step forward, nearing the edge of the island.

“We, the servants of the Dark, fight for the cause of the Light.”

Another, and another.

“We, the sinners of this earth, protect the innocent.” “We, who are damned, fight for our redemption.” 

He stood at the edge of the island.

“We are the sword and the shield of the faithful.”

A jump, air rushing past, and he said the last words he would ever need.

“ _ Let none hinder us. _ ” 

 

….

 

Everything, so still. Dawning expressions of shock on the two  **[dangers, Archons]** , confusion on the  **[target]** . He felt himself burning.

Immaterial. Focus. 

He found the air held him, as well as honest earth would. He walked to the  **[target]** . She held a source of power in her hands. Ew, that was a  _ heart. _ Did she have no concept of hygiene?

A single blow, and the barrier shattered like glass, falling to shreds around him as he continued walking.

So slow.

Oh. Heh. She was about to start drawing the boy's life away. Couldn't have that. A stroke of the blade, and her hands fell. He caught the heart in his free hand. It'd fall with him.

He spoke slowly, to let her understand.  **“The heart is not yours. Ever.”**

She was falling, and he decided that would be….anticlimactic. So he hit her into the island. A crater formed slowly at her point of impact as he walked back onto honest earth again.  **“Anything else to say? Perhaps I should let it have you.”**

It did feel hungry. And she'd made it that way. Seemed appropriate.

He slowed down to hear her response.

 

"No, please..." she sobbed. "I have to... have to make it mine... make it stronger... I have to... Please... Please understand... Everything will fall..."

 

**“No.”** The blade flashed out, and her head dropped to the ground, her form dissolving into light the heart drank down. He turned, but mid-step, his legs folded under him, pitching him to the ground. Heart and blade fell from unresponsive fingers.

It hurt to breath, and everything was grey and dim.

He’d….this was expected. The only option.

He waited for death.


	34. Cassiel fixes everything

Cassiel stirred. He was on the ground, and didn't remember falling. What happened?

 

He lifted his head... and his eyes went wide. Glen!

 

Glen was  _ standing on thin air _ , his knife in one hand and a black lump in the other. He moved so fast that all Cassiel caught were snatches. Suddenly Verlel was flying toward the island Cassiel was on. She hit the ground several meters away, and a great cloud of dust blew up around her. Cassiel put his arms over his head, flinching away, but none of the debris reached him. When he looked again, Glen was on the island, too -- How? -- and Verlel... Verlel's head and body were no longer attached, and they were not solid, either. They were dissolving into light, and the light was being sucked into the lumpy thing in Glen's hand.

 

And then Glen... Glen was falling, Glen was lying on the ground, Glen was  _ hurt _ .

 

Cassiel scrambled to his feet and ran to him. A cold hand grabbed his heart and squeezed it, and he choked on his own pulse in his throat as he fell to his knees beside Glen. He reached for him, but Glen's skin was blackened, burned, and Cassiel was afraid to touch him. Oh please, please no, no no no...

 

"Glen!" The name burst from Cassiel’s mouth in a ragged cry, a desperate plea.

 

Glen stirred, and he slowly rolled onto his back with a groan. “Hey, Cassiel…” he wheezed. “Sorry…”

 

Cassiel shook his head. "N-no!" The word was not just in his head, it was on his lips. His need for words was finally stronger than the barrier inside him that held them back. Not just words. His need for Glen. "Please... Glen... don't... g-go. Please... don't..." His vision swam, and he felt tears running down his face.

 

“Can't…” Glen rasped. “Soul’s….all burnt up. No way to fix that….” He smiled. “At least….you’re safe.”

 

"Y-you can't die," said Cassiel. "I love you..."

 

“And I you...but seems….my story ends here.” Glen closed his eyes. “Least….it had a happy ending…made myself better…had a….family...again.”

 

No. No endings. Not now. Cassiel wouldn't accept that, couldn't. 

 

He shifted his focus. The not-seen around Glen was thin and faint, leeched of color, ragged-looking. But the tattered not-seen wasn't the problem. Neither was Glen's body, despite the burns. No, the problem was deeper. Cassiel reached... down... deep... And there it was. Such a little spark, so frail, a candle flame guttering low.

 

He would fix it. He would give Glen what he needed. Anything. But as he readied himself to pour energy into Glen, he felt something.

 

Something that wanted his attention.

 

He looked. Beside Glen, the black lump was alive in the not-seen, impossibly deep and pulsing with blue light. It was bound around with thick, constraining bands, shuttering its glow, but they were brittle, and even as he watched the first one shattered, then another, and another, until they were all gone. The black lump crumbled into dust. For a moment he could  _ feel _ the glow. It was very, very old. It was voices, and memories, and raw energy, many generations of people tied together through a shared Bond. A Bond born of shared purpose, to build and to make strong; to teach and guide; to protect, to keep safe.

 

Then the dense glow dissolved into tiny blue sparks, countless, endless. They jumped and skittered, and rose like dust motes on an updraft, whirling. Soon they were all around Cassiel. He put a hand out, reaching to touch one, and they came streaming toward it and  _ through _ it, sinking right through his skin and into his body.

 

His whole body shuddered. It was not a bad feeling. It was energizing. It was the almost-ache of magic in his horns, the thrill of a thunderstorm in the air, the teetering pull of looking down into an endless fall...

 

_ let see let in open self _

 

The words were not words. But he understood. They wanted to see inside him, wanted to look down into his deepest core as he had looked down into Glen's.

 

He showed them everything.

 

They must have liked what they saw, because the next thing he knew, they were burrowed into him, settling somewhere deep inside.

 

_ want save? _

 

They could save Glen?  _ Yes! Yes, please help him! I love him! _

 

_ yes good love yes bright warm good yes yes love _

 

Cassiel put his hands on Glen's chest. The sparks streamed down into Glen, deep into the place where the dying flame lived. They found it, and began to heal it, feed it, strengthen it. The flame brightened, then grew, until it filled Glen’s core, blazing inside him. Outside, the raw burns on Glen's skin changed from black to red to pink and then vanished altogether.

 

The sparks withdrew, zipping back to Cassiel and into him again.

 

Cassiel blinked, looking down at Glen.

 

Glen pulled in a ragged breath. Then another, stronger. Then he sat up. “How…. _ ” _

 

Instead of answering, Cassiel threw his arms around Glen's neck and hugged him as hard as he could.

 

Glen laughed, and hugged him back.

 

A soft thud signalled the arrival of the two Archons, who were both gaping.  Cassiel loosed his grip on Glen, just enough to pull back and see his face. He was okay. He... wait. What had happened to his eye?

 

One of Glen's eyes, the left one, had had its iris turned a bright, burning red. Glen gave Cassiel a confused look. “What?”

 

The words came slowly, but they came. And wasn't  _ that _ strange! Strange but wonderful. "Your eye," he said. "It's red."

 

“Red as in crying-red, or red as in I’m-coming-to-eat-your-soul red?” Glen asked with a raised eyebrow, standing.

 

Cassiel frowned. "Red as in not grey anymore."

 

“The latter. Well, at least I can scare people more easily now.” He paused. “Ren’s gonna kill me when she hears about this.”

 

Lucin chuckled. “Only if Ms. Fawkes up there doesn't get to you first.”

 

Glen’s eyes widened as he paused in the midst of pulling on his coat. “She's still tapping our comms, isn't she.”

Lucin nodded sagely.

“Teleport me back to the village?” Glen asked plaintively.

Lucin shrugged, and with another blue flash, both of them were back at the burning village.

 

The soldiers were moving around in what was left of the biggest building. Some of them were putting out the last of the fire, and others were carrying people-shapes wrapped in white sheets out of the building and laying them on the ground beside one of the houses. Cassiel turned his eyes away from those white-wrapped figures.

 

One of the soldiers looked up as they arrived. "They're back," the man called.

 

In answer, Ren came out of one of the houses -- not the one they'd left her in, or the one where they'd talked to the crying girl, but another one -- and headed straight for them.

 

"Are you alright? Did you find her? What happened? Where's the shuttle? What... _ happened to your eye _ ?"

 

Glen nodded. “She's dead,” he said. “And good riddance.”

 

Ren sighed, a relieved sound, and seemed to relax a little. "How far had she gotten? Did she hurt anyone else?"

 

“Right into the Godsteps,” he said. “And no. Didn't give her the chance.”

 

"Good." Ren nodded slowly. "And... the eye?" She gave Glen an I-notice-you-haven't-answered-that-yet look.

 

Glen rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “Cassiel was in danger. Only way to save him...was to basically burn up my soul for power. He brought me back, but….looks like there's marks that’ll be left.” He shrugged. “Was worth it.”

He paused. “Just realized, my mask burned up during the fight. Dammit.”

 

Ren's eyes got big, and for a moment Cassiel didn't think she was even breathing. She looked at him, then back at Glen. She was shaking.

 

Then she grabbed Glen in a hug -- Glen was getting lots of hugs today -- and pulled Cassiel into it, too. "What  _ happened _ ? How... I don't... Are you alright? Are you both alright?"

 

“We’re whole. Both of us,” Glen said, patting her on the back.

 

"We're okay," said Cassiel. "The Sparks helped."

 

Ren looked at him in astonishment. "Cassiel, you spoke!"

 

He nodded.

 

Glen grinned. “He does that, now,” he said. He looked back at Cassiel. “Sparks? That's how you pulled it off?”

 

"What sparks?" asked Ren.

 

How to explain. Cassiel felt them still inside; he wished they would show themselves. That would be so much easier.

 

As if in response, they did, several dozen rising up around him, tiny points of blue light dancing across his skin and through the air. “Them,” he said, grinning.

 

Glen let out a low whistle. “They talk?”

 

Cassiel shrugged. "Kind of?"

 

Ren watched them for a moment. Then she looked at Cassiel, and her eyes changed. He knew she was looking in the not-seen.

 

She drew a sharp breath. "That... that's the same energy that Verlel had trapped in the heart of her spell. It's the Bond." Her focus snapped back, and she looked up at Glen in alarm.

 

“I’m going to hope that's a good thing,” Glen said quietly.

 

Cassiel frowned at them. He didn’t understand why they were upset. “The Sparks are nice,” he said. “They helped. They wanted to.” The Sparks cavorted in the air around him in agreement.  _ yes yes good nice help yes good, _ he heard, or maybe felt, them say.

 

Glen shrugged. “Works for me. Don't see why there’d be a problem, unless he’s still connected to Greenstone through them.” He gave Cassiel a look. “You aren't, are you?”

 

Huh. Cassiel didn't know.  _ Are we? _ he asked, inside his head.

 

_ no, _ came the answer.  _ no queen no court no tether no tie _

 

Cassiel shook his head. "They say we're not."

 

Ren still looked worried, but she nodded slowly. "It doesn't look like there's anything we can do about it, anyway. They... they're in rather deep." She looked a little pale at the thought. "Just... tell us if anything changes. Alright?"

  
Cassiel nodded. Ren worried too much.


	35. Sheshne is the Eternal President of the Dumbass Decisions Club

Grenmat was not happy. How Sheshne could be such a bastard and still sway people to his ideas, she just could not understand. But he had, and there was no turning it around now. All she could do was hope that the trial itself would not go as poorly as the debate over whether to hold it had.

 

Then the focus of Sheshne's ill-considered ideas -- Glen Carviss and Renma -- returned to the 'Council chambers', accompanied by the little boy and not one but  _ two _ of the giant rhudit men. Oh good. There were more of those. At least the group walked in, rather than cracking into being right in front of her like the scythe-wielding one had done before. That had just about given her a heart attack. Not to mention the snake... although that had been worth it, just for what it did to Sheshne. 

 

The three diplomats came back in on the group's heels. Sheshne had thrown them out shortly after the group had left, in order to have no one around to object to his foolishness. They retook their seats as the group stood in front of the Council's table. The giant snake reappeared with a shimmer next to them. Sheshne’s stricken expression reappeared with it , and Grenmat allowed herself a slight smile .  Thank the goddess for small pleasures.

 

“Verlel's dead,” Carviss said into the ensuing silence.

 

Oh,  _ pox _ . Sorar was going to run with that. He already had it in his head that Verlel was nothing but a scapegoat, and moreover that she had been killed off by her former cohorts specifically to hide the fact.

 

Sure enough, he spoke up. "Is that so? How convenient for you, then, that now she can never provide testimony that might contradict your own. It's so easy to put words in dead mouths, after all."

 

She couldn't let that pass. Not when so many of the Council were already stirred to suspicion and ill will by Sheshne's earlier campaigning. "I'd like to point out that the reason they went after her is that her testimony would have  _ supported _ their claims. If that wasn't the case, why offer? We could never have tracked her down on our own."

 

Sorar frowned.

 

“I have audio and video. Not sure how much good it’ll do, compared to testimony….but she was too dangerous to bring in alive.”

 

"Audi... audible... and what?" said Daelak.

 

“Recorded sound and images,” he replied. “Do you want to see it?”

 

Daelak nodded, and even some of the others, though they didn't speak out for themselves, looked to Sheshne -- and when had he somehow become their leader? They were supposed to be a council of equals -- with obvious expectation. Sheshne narrowed his eyes, but said, "Fine. Go ahead."

 

Carviss raised a thumb and  _ levered his own eye out! _

 

Lady Cosla screamed, several at the Council table gasped, and even Renma and the boy looked shocked, both reaching for Carviss. Grenmat jumped to her feet, ready to help first and ask  _ why would you do that you madman? _ later... but then she paused. No blood. No scream of pain. No trailing muscle or cord of nerves. A... false eye?

 

Carviss ignored this, and nodded to Nemesis. “Going to need to borrow your projector,” he said. Nemesis nodded back, and shrank down, until she was the size of an ordinary snake, coiled on the table. The disk floated across to Carviss, who placed the bloodless eye on it. “One of the benefits of an artificial eye,” he said, “is that you can pack a camera and recorder into it. Very useful. Normally I'd transfer the data to my tablet, but didn't have time.”

 

A transparent image appeared in the air above the disk. Grenmat saw a tiny village, a pall of smoke hanging over it. It's village hall was nothing but ash and smoldering timbers. There were 'humans', like Carviss and the diplomats, in strange attire, armed, clearly soldiers. 

 

The view -- Carviss's view -- moved.

 

She watched as they encountered a longhorn man, then a half-gone woman with an egg... but no, the infant was dead in the shell. Poor baby. Poor  _ mother _ . Carviss left Renma with her, and went to another house. Two more dead little ones, barely more than hatchlings, and a girl, sobbing. Her words were hard to understand as she choked them out through her tears, the things she described even harder to imagine -- the whole village, gone.

 

Grenmat felt the same heartsick anger, the same helplessness, that she'd felt watching the ‘wasting sickness’ claim life after life here in her own court. If that and this was all, truly, Verlel's doing, then she was viciously glad the woman was dead.

 

Carviss, meeting with the scythe-carrying rhudit man. Blue light, and then the Godsteps... and Verlel.

 

She looked half mad. No,  _ entirely _ mad. And what was she  _ doing _ ? Some spell, some ritual, on the edge of a cliff at the navel of the world... Grenmat shivered.  _ There _ was Taint magic, a corrupted mind wielding unknown power. Before Grenmat could grow too philosophical, however, Carviss fired on Verlel -- a familiar blast of green fire, just like the ones that had killed Queen Temor -- and a fight broke out.

 

Well, 'fight' wasn't really the word, was it? Battle. Clash of gods. A power  _ maelstrom _ . The white rhudit, throwing lighting; the tan one, dropping out of nowhere, a living fireball,  _ blasting an island apart _ ; the great metal thing the humans had come in, employing a weapon like Carviss's but on a fearfully larger scale; Carviss himself, firing too. But Verlel took it all, untouchable.

 

And then the child fell, struck down by an unseen force as his pendant was ripped away from him. Carviss paused the video. “She spoke into my mind. Threatened to kill him unless I called off the attack. I dealt with her.” The video resumed.

 

Carviss performed some kind of ritual, as he walked to the edge of the island and  _ leapt off _ . But he didn't fall. The world blurred, and Verlel was there, and her shield was shattering, and it all happened so  _ fast _ . The flash of Carviss's blade, Verlel's hands sliced off, Carviss snatching the thing she had been holding, then striking at her, sending her flying... An island, a crater where Verlel had landed -- some remnant of power still clinging to her, to have survived that -- Verlel herself, ranting about power and strength and her plans falling apart even as she pleaded for her life, no sanity left in her. 

 

In one slash of his heavy knife, Carviss cut her head off.

 

He turned away as Verlel's body began to break down into light, pouring into the thing Carviss had taken from her. Then the ground rushed up to meet him, the view obscured by dirt and rock.

 

Running footsteps. A young voice, calling frantically. The view turned slowly, as Carviss rolled onto his back, looking up at the sky and the face of the boy, peering down at him. Grenmat couldn't see what the boy was seeing, didn't know what kind of shape Glen was in, but the child's desperate expression spoke volumes. Carviss... told the boy goodbye.

 

The view turned red, the glow of sunlight through closed eyelids. But then the glow changed, from red to blue. And when the blue faded away, Carviss opened his eyes.

 

The video vanished, and Carviss picked up his eye. “Cassiel saved my life. Right after I saved his. Poetic, that.” He reinserted the eye with a faint squelching noise.

 

It took a moment for Grenmat to pull her thoughts together. She wasn’t the only one. The rest of the Council seemed as affected by the images as she had been. They murmured to each other, or stared at the spot above the disk as if still watching the events unfold; Tohn's eyes were closed, his lips forming what she could only guess were silent prayers. Even Sheshne did not seem able to find his voice right away.

 

Unfortunately he did find his voice, all too soon.

 

"In light of what we've seen here,” he said, slowly, “I feel the Council will agree with me in accepting the truth of your claim that Verlel was... involved... in the dark magics which were used against Greenstone Court. Precisely  _ how _ remains a matter of question, but that she  _ was _ is... seems to be..." he made a face, as if the next word were bitter in his mouth, "...indisputable."

 

Sheshne, being reasonable? Grenmat almost couldn’t believe her ears.

 

"However..." 

 

Oh, here it came. She should have known better. 

 

"It does not change the decision which the Council reached while awaiting your return."

 

“And what is that?” one of the diplomats asked, a note of hostility entering his voice. He hadn't taken being removed well.

 

Sheshne drew himself up. "That it is the Council's duty to observe due process and see that law and order are upheld during this turbulent and troublesome time, even, and perhaps especially, as it regards the events of the recent rebellion. The Interim Council does therefore formally charge Glen Carviss with Mass Homicide, War Crimes, and Regicide. The Interim Council also charges Renma of the Reaches with War Crimes, Use of Dark Magic Against Greenstone Court, Treason, and Accessory to Regicide. In the absence of a crown monarch to deliver judgement, the accused will stand trial before the Interim Council."

 

The reaction among the diplomats was slight- a narrowing of eyes and thinning of lips.

Not so the rest of their party. Nemesis grew back to full size in an instant, and larger, baring a mouth and throat full of threshing fangs at Sheshne with a sibilant hiss. The white rhudit-man hefted his scythe, lightning already crawling on it. The tan one stepped forward, drawing his sword. Flames licked off the blade, and the temperature cranked to oven-like heat in an instant.  _ “Ohr idotaschen, rektionären, halbzuchtigen söhe einar betrukanen ziege! Ich sollte--" _

 

“ _ Holt!” _ Carviss’s voice cracked like a whip, and the rhudit-man stopped in his tracks, glaring at the Council, and Sheshne in particular.

 

Grenmat cowered back, cursing Sheshne for a witless bastard and all his supporters for blind fools. Sheshne himself somehow held his ground, though his fingers whitened in a deathgrip on the edge of the table.

 

"This," he rasped. He was shaking, with fear and... indignation? Really? It certainly looked like it; she'd seen that expression on his face enough times before. " _ This _ is exactly what cannot be tolerated. You cannot... cannot come into our court, claiming diplomacy, mediation,  _ peaceful intentions _ ... and then... this! Aggression and violence!"

 

“Aggression? You just threatened to have one of our citizens put to death for  _ saving _ your stupid ass,” the white rhudit-man said idly. “Looks to me like--”

 

“Enough,” Carviss said. The rhudit-man fell silent as Carviss stepped forward. He looked Sheshne over. “If we had  _ anything _ other than peaceful intentions, this island would have been smoke and ash hours ago. But if you insist on pursuing this foolishness, go right ahead. Just be wary of the consequences.”

 

The diplomats exchanged looks, and nodded as one. The one in the middle drew a tablet from under his suit jacket, and held it out to Grenmat.  She took it shakily. “This contains records of our methods of waging war, and recordings fifty years old from one of those wars. We trust you will examine them  _ thoroughly _ .”  They stood.

Nemesis leaned in close to Sheshne. “I run the fleet,” she hissed. “Some of our ships are bigger than this island. Have a nice day.” She blinked out of existence, and the diplomat who had produced her disk in the first place caught it deftly as all three turned to go.

The two rhudit-men exchanged looks as well, and the white one turned to Carviss. “You’ll be alright?” he asked.

Carviss looked over at Renma and the boy, and nodded.

The two rhudit-men vanished in a burst of blue light, leaving the three alone.

 

For a moment there was silence. Then Sheshne swallowed hard and looked over at them.

 

"Why is that boy still with them? Someone get him out of here. Commander Kerranin, take the accused down to the--"

 

"Absolutely not," said Grenmat, cutting him off. "You don't make such decisions  _ Councilman _ Sheshne," she said, using the temporary title in place of the one she knew he preferred. "Commander Ekor is responsible for the handling of prisoners. And I propose to  _ him _ ," she turned to Ekor, "that they should be confined to a suite in the castle, under guard."

 

"Oh yes," said Lady Cosla. "Carviss is not a member of the court, and as we are currently engaging in diplomatic relations with his people, he should technically be treated as a political prisoner."

 

"But he's a criminal!" said Sorar. "They both are! Put them in cells where they belong."

 

"If they wanted to run," said Ekor calmly, "I suspect there would be no stopping them. Wouldn't you agree, Kerranin?"

 

Kerranin turned red, and his mouth pressed into a thin line. "I... would, yes," he admitted reluctantly, staring hard at Carviss.

 

Ekor stood up. "Then unless the Council," a look at Sheshne, "wishes to intervene in my duties, or question my judgement in carrying them out, a suite under guard it is."

 

No one objected.

  
Ekor nodded to Carviss and Renma, raised an eyebrow at the boy, and shrugged. "If you'll come with me," he said.


	36. Visitors and a movie

Ren knew that this had been somewhat expected. After all, this was why they came back to Greenstone to begin with: because negotiations would likely require that Greenstone be allowed to take custody of Glen and herself while 'mediation' took place.

 

After what happened with Verlel, she had hoped it wouldn't come to that. She'd thought this 'Interim Council' would be able to see the situation for what it was and realize that it had not been about rebellion, it had been about  _ saving Greenstone _ and who knew how many other people, too. 

 

They hadn't, and the fact that she and Glen were being charged anyway didn't bode well for the overall outcome of this situation.

 

It was, to be quite honest, getting to her.

 

A lot.

 

And Glen seemed perfectly calm, watching the guard assigned to stay inside with them steadily.  It was making the guard incredibly nervous, which was in turn feeding Ren's nervousness.

 

"Stop staring at each other!" she finally snapped at them.

 

Glen blinked, and nodded. “Worried?” he asked, in that damnably calm voice.

 

“ _ Yes _ .” How could he  _ not _ be?

 

He looked her over. “Think. Lucin can teleport anywhere, at any time, Nemesis commands a fleet that currently has this entire planet under its guns, and I’m in the room with you. Ain't no safer place.”

 

Yes, and all of that had been true earlier, too, and Glen had almost  _ died _ . Not that she thought there was another Verlel waiting to pounce on them, but danger could be a lot more subtle than that without being any less of a threat.    
  
"I think you're underestimating the potential for things to go wrong."

 

“Probably,” he admitted. “But no use worrying about it. Can't do a damn thing, not without making things worse in the long run.”

 

Ren sighed. Why did he have to be right? She went back to her pacing.

 

“Huh. Just realized something.”

 

“What's that?” she asked, putting effort into sounding less tired and wound up than she still was.

 

“There's only two beds, and one’s child-sized.” He paused. “Eh, at least the floor’s warm. Could be worse places.”

 

She glanced through the archway into the bedroom. What was he talking about? "Why would you sleep on the floor? The bed's big enough for two." It was big enough for a family, come to that, although she knew that wasn't the custom here.

 

Oh. Maybe Glen shared the local view on what constituted appropriate sleeping arrangements… and their implications. She felt her cheeks get hot.

 

Glen nodded. “You see the problem. I’m no Shikanen, so…”

 

Ren's face grew even hotter. But the gods must not have thought embarrassment a fitting cause of death, because someone -- she didn't even care who -- chose that precise moment to interrupt.

 

Unannounced, a woman pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the room, a pair of guards... no, retainers... scrambling to keep up with her quick, decisive stride. The guards outside the door did not make an appearance; apparently she had enough authority to bypass them.

 

The woman looked Ren over, then Glen, and then, tipping her head a bit to spot him in his hide-away in a chair by the empty fireplace, Cassiel. Ren looked her over in return.

 

She was noble, no doubting that, and not just because of her clothes. Her bearing spoke more clearly than her silks and brocades. She was of middling height, with dark, curling hair swept up in a complicated bun, a few artfully loose strands framing an elegant france. Her age was hard to discern; Ren wasn't sure if she was a young woman who looked older than her years, or an older woman who had aged very well. It was something about the eyes.

 

Glen watched her coolly. “You must be important,” he said softly. “Here to bribe, blackmail, or blab?”

 

The woman met his gaze with quiet appraisal. Then she smiled ever so slightly. "Here because your actions in this court have afforded me an opportunity I might never have had otherwise, for which I wish to show my gratitude." She blinked, slowly, like a cat, and the smile became just a little crooked. "And because my brother seems to like you, and desires to see that you are kept informed of unfolding events."

 

Glen paused. “Ah. Lady Daml, then. Convey my thanks to Cormeka, if you would.”

 

"With pleasure." The smile lingered a moment longer, and then her expression faded into a calm, watchful countenance which gave very little away. She walked over to the fireplace and settled into one of the chairs there, as if she were an old friend come to call in a familiar home. Her retainers took up positions behind and to either side of her chair, somewhat undermining the impression. 

 

She glanced at the cold hearth and frowned faintly -- it seemed all of her expressions were slight and subtle; perhaps that explained why her skin was so smooth -- and turned to the guard. "Send for a servant," she told him. "This room is chilled."

 

The guard gawked. "I-- I can't leave my post, my Lady. I... I must..." his eyes went to Glen and Ren, then back to her.

 

Lady Daml gave him a cold, patient stare, like an owl watching a mouse it isn't particularly hungry for but will eat if the mouse insists. The guard left.

 

"Please," she said, gesturing to the other chairs. Cassiel had vacated his, ducking around behind it instead and peering over the top at her. She gave no sign of noticing. "Sit down."

 

Ren gave Glen a sidelong  _ what-the? _ look, and hesitantly took a seat.

 

Glen frowned, but took one as well. “Well?”

 

"Your diplomats have been very successful in mediation between the Interim Council and the opposition. The Council has been convinced to grant amnesty to all those who participated in the rebellion; none will face charges of treason, nor any other crime." She held up a hand, forestalling the question already halfway to Ren's mouth. "With the exception of yourselves," she amended. "Your charges still stand, for the time being."

 

Still, it was good news. And only fair. The rebels had risked their lives to make a better future for the court; now that that it had been achieved, they didn't deserve have it denied to them. She nodded.

 

“Let me guess- Sheshne opposed that as well,” Glen grumbled.

 

"Forcefully," said Daml, dipping her chin. "But he was argued down. He may be the loudest bird in the cote, but he was, at least on this issue, outnumbered."

 

“That's all well and good, but I have a feeling you didn't come here to be a messenger, no matter how good the news was.”

 

Lady Daml nodded to Glen, conceding to his point. "No. I did not." She studied them for a moment, then said, "You know my name, but do you know who I am?"

 

Glen shrugged. “All I got from Verlel's file was name and relation to Cormeka. You weren't a target, so no need to know more than that.”

 

This assessment inspired a faint arching of one delicate eyebrow, a rather strong expression by the standards of what Daml had displayed so far. But it was smoothed away again quickly, and she went on. "I am a daughter of the royal blood. Some will say they have a better claim to the throne than mine; they do not. Lady Petna is more closely related to our late queen, that is true, but my blood is purer. No sons have broken the line between myself and Queen Kinma. Had my grandmother been the elder sister rather than the younger, dear Temor would never have sat the throne at all." 

 

She leaned forward, fixing them each with an even look. "I tell you this for a purpose. The Interim Council exists only for that: the interim, until a new queen ascends the throne. Your people," she nodded to Glen, "have taken an interest in the political affairs of this court. They say they desire land, and that they wish to treat with us for the use of ours. I will be blunt. That will never happen under Lady Petna's reign, should she become queen. She possesses all the ruling ability of a child; she is the favorite of Sheshne and his supporters explicitly because she would be no more than a figurehead, a mouthpiece for their words, a royal seal affixed to their agendas. I, on the other hand, am no one's figurehead. And I wish to extend the hand of friendship to your and yours." She paused. "I, too, have supporters among the Council. I will do what I can to sway them in your favor, as they make their decisions regarding the two of you. I ask for nothing in return. But I will say plainly that I do hope these efforts will be recognized, and that if your people decide to... place outside pressure upon the court... that they do not do it in opposition to my efforts to take the throne."

 

Glen paused, looking Daml over. “Can't say I dictate the Lord General's decisions, but I know him. He’ll like as not come to the same conclusion I have.”

 

“What conclusion might that be, if I may ask?”

 

“Sheshne's an idiot who would provoke us into warring with him simply by continuing to act as he already has. Having him remain in power is dangerous for every Demeki on this island.” He shrugged. “I told your brother to start taking women and children out of the castle. How has that gone?”

 

Lady Daml blinked. "It--"

 

"Halt!" came the voice of one of the guards outside the suite. "No entry. Turn back at once."

 

"I am Lady Grenmat  _ of the Interim Council _ , if anyone can come here, I can. Let. Me. By."

 

Lady Daml gestured to one of her retainers. He bowed and left the suite.

 

There were murmurs.

 

The retainer came back in. Lady Grenmat came with him.

 

Lady Daml nodded politely to her as she approached. "You seem upset," she said, conversationally.

 

Upset was not the word. Lady Grenmat's face was chalky, her eyes were wide, and her mouth was set in a grim line. She clutched a tablet in both hands.

 

She turned to Glen without even looking at Daml. "You... this... please tell me... this... this isn't real... oh,  _ gods _ ..." She looked down at the tablet as if it were alive in her hands and wanted to eat her.

 

“That old war footage? It's very real. I lived through a lot of it,” Glen said. “And  _ that's _ half a century old. We’ve got  _ far _ better weapons now.”

 

Lady Daml frowned. Or, something as close to a frown as she seemed likely to come. A faint crease between the eyes, a subtle tightening of the corners of the mouth. "Lady Grenmat, please calm yourself. What could possibly have affected you so?"

 

Lady Grenmat only shook her head, still staring at the tablet. "We're going to die. They're going to  _ erase _ us..."

 

Glen reached over, and took the tablet from her unresisting fingers. “We won't go that far unless you do something truly idiotic,” he said reassuringly. “Granted, Sheshne appears to have bone where his grey matter should be, but hopefully the rest of you have a sense of self-preservation.”

He nodded to Daml. “You really want to know?”

 

"I am increasingly inclined to feel that I should, yes."

 

Glen fiddled with the tablet, and a blank white light began to shine on the opposite wall. “Then take a look.”

Lady Daml watched. So did Ren. She'd  _ heard _ about the weapons, the wars, the power and destruction Glen's home universe was fraught with, but it was hard to imagine it. She wanted to see.

The first thing they saw was a mud wall. A view like Glen had shown, when--. A straightforward view. The man turned, and it was revealed he stood in a muddy trench. Armored men lined the thing, peering out through tiny gaps in the earthworks built up on the edge of the trench. The rumble of distant thunder, mixed with odd shrieks, cut through the air at intervals.

One of the men, the one next to the camera, leaned a little farther forward-- and head and helmet exploded into meaty shrapnel in a burst of green light. The soldier’s corpse fell back into the puddle at the trench’s base.

 

Ren recoiled, pressing a hand over her mouth. Lady Daml didn't move, but her expression, always rather immobile, seemed to have become even more fixed than usual.

 

The soldier’s view turned back, and peered out through a firing slit, the man’s weapon- a blocky, blunt thing- coming into view briefly as he learned forward. Ren caught a glimpse of thick mists, churned earth, thick with mud, craters, and coiled loops of wire, before the soldier ducked down again.

A tone sounded, and the soldier sighed audibly, before reaching up for the lip of the trench, and hauling himself over it. Half-seen glimpses showed the other soldiers doing the same, all of them running flat out. The reason why became apparent a second later, as the mists were shredded by bolts of green light, bunkers concealed by the mist the source of the incoming fire. It scythed through the soldiers easily, cutting them down in droves as they ran headlong into the hell.

More of that distant thunder boomed, and explosions began to wrack the area, tossing men like leaves. The lucky ones were hit directly- far more were reduced to screaming wrecks by the storms of shrapnel.

A blur passed by overhead, and the bunker to the soldier’s left exploded into burning flames as he ran past it. The concussion of the blast threw him off his feet for a moment, but he struggled on until he reached a grey wall- another bunker, but with no weapons pointing out. Another couple of soldiers straggled up from behind him, mud-stained and battered.

“This all that's left?”

The man’s voice was painfully young.

The other soldiers nodded.

“Then...we keep going.”

The soldier’s view turned, leaning out from behind that grey wall. A door, solid metal, stood recessed into the wall around the corner.

“Got charges?”

One of the soldiers nodded. 

“Blow it open.”

The soldier got to work, ducking around the wall and pulling metallic hemispheres from his pack. He attached them on the door’s edges as the other two soldiers stood by the door, weapons raised. A moment's work and a flash of light, and the door was thrown back into the bunker with an earsplitting blast. The soldiers rushed in, only for them to be cut down by return fire. The camera fell back, pointing towards a grey ceiling as a hideous scaled creature in crude armor leaned over it.

The video cut off in green light.

 

Ren swallowed hard. She glanced over at Glen. He appeared impassive, but she'd been around him enough by now to read the tension in him. The same visceral reaction to the images that she felt herself, or personal memories brought to the surface? Either way, she half regretted that Daml had asked to see the footage.

 

But it was already playing, so Ren looked back to the screen. If she was going to watch, the least she could do was pay it her full attention. Daml's was certainly unwavering.

 

It resumed on a radically different scene, far above, drifting in a starry void. A world turned below, green and blue and white, a sun burning in the far distance. And a ship, a short, stubby thing with a tail that poked over its rear like a lopsided brick, floated past. Letters that appeared underneath it outlined in amber light proclaimed it a 'Mekkain drone cruiser’. It turned its belly to the world below, the camera angle just low enough to catch a glimpse of doors opening before it completed its turn. Turrets gleamed on its upper surface.

From underneath the cruiser, rods of metal began to fall gracefully, pointing down at the planet. Faster and faster they fell, beginning to glow as they drew closer and closer, becoming beacons of light.

Vast explosions peppered the planet’s surface as the rods hit, spots of light flaring into being and vanishing just as quickly.

The cruiser flew on, and the rods continued to fall.

Fires caught and spread, sweeping across the globe with slow, terrible majesty. Red cracks were beginning to show in the surface as the cruiser completed its circuit, before it abruptly stretched out and vanished.

Below, the world turned, in flames.

 

Lady Daml looked up, briefly, and Ren saw in her eyes the same horrified understanding. A whole world, ripped apart from on high. Nothing and no one on that planet would survive. To  _ unmake _ a world... if these people were not gods, they wielded the power of them nonetheless.

 

Another video.

This one was almost peaceful, a room like the one Lucin had brought them to when Glen's people had arrived. Nemesis was a familiar shape, coiled up beside the projector, watching intently.

Within it, countless points of light, blue opposing red, faced each other. The blue were arrayed into a bladelike formation, point downward, facing a broad globe of the reds. 

Abruptly, a shudder reverberated through the room, and several of the lights in the red globe winked out.

“Sixty-one escort class destroyed. Eight line-class destroyed. One hundred ninety three remaining,” Nemesis said. “Reorienting.”

The formations raced towards one another, the tips of the blue formation curving inward to flank the reds from above and below. More and more red winked out, but so did several blues as the formations interpenetrated.

“Shields at seventy-nine percent,” Nemesis said calmly as the room rocked. “Firing plans engaged.”

Around one large point of blue light, a dozen reds vanished.

The same scene was repeated throughout what Ren was slowly realizing was a full-scale battle, each light representing a ship. There were  _ hundreds _ of them.

The blue armada resumed its formation after nearly half an hour's fight, minus a third of its numbers. None of the red ships had survived.

 

Even other humans, meeting them on their own terms -- with hundreds of ships, full of thousands of people, commanding weapons beyond Demeki comprehension -- couldn't stand against them. What hope did tiny Greenstone have? What hope would all of Domhan have, if it came to war? None. Ren had not doubted Nemesis, when she said that war would cost Domhan almost its entire population. What she doubted, now, was the 'almost' part.

 

Glen shut the video off. “The rest’s technical manuals, demonstrations, text records,” he said. “Nothing of importance.”

 

Lady Daml sat back in her chair. She said nothing for a long moment, gazing into the middle distance somewhere above their heads. Contemplating possible futures? Or just in shock? Ren couldn't read her well enough to tell.

 

Finally she spoke. "As I said. Friendship. Peace between us. Whatever it takes to achieve it. And may the gods will that I never see  _ that _ ..." she paused, drew a slow breath, went on, "...unleashed upon my people."

 

She stood. "I am sorry to cut our meeting short. But I feel discussions with key persons are urgently needed. You understand, I am sure. Lady Grenmat, come with me."

 

Lady Grenmat looked at her and nodded mutely. They left, Grenmat towed along by the sheer force of Daml's stride, the contending queen's retainers nearly jogging to keep up.

 

Ren looked at Glen. "Well. That was something." Understatement. But she couldn't think of anything else to say.

 

Glen nodded. “It's getting late,” he said quietly.

 

Ren sighed. Right again. And she felt it, too. Exhaustion deep in her bones. All she wanted was to put this day behind her, and her head down on a soft pillow. She contemplated their housing arrangement for a moment, trying to think of a solution that didn't involve either of them sleeping on the floor. Then she smiled.

 

"You get the left side, I get the right." She nodded to Cassiel, just slipping out from behind Glen's chair. "Cassiel, you get the middle." She looked at Glen. "That work?"

 

Glen considered for a moment. Then he nodded. “Alright.” He slipped out of his coat and vest, unlaced his boots, and climbed into the bed.  Cassiel bounced up onto the bed beside him, kicking off his shoes as he went, and laid down back-to-back with Glen, obviously pleased by the arrangement. Ren smiled. She put the light out, leaving only moonlight through the window to guide her to the bed, and took her spot on Cassiel's other side. She ruffled Cassiel's hair, ignoring the face he made at her for doing it, and sighed. "Good night, you two."

 

“G’night,” Glen mumbled sleepily.


	37. Shirtless Glen and an embassy

The crying was quiet, but Glen was a light sleeper, and he woke instantly and silently, opening his eyes to dawn light.  It came from the other room.

He sat up quickly. Ren’s side of the bed was empty.

He rose, leaving Cassiel alone in the bed, and padded towards the sound. Chill morning air played across his skin- he must've removed his shirt while asleep. Wouldn't be the first time. He shook his head, and peeked around the archway.

 

He could just see her, sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace with her knees drawn up and her arms around them, head down. Her face was hidden, but he could see her shoulders shake.

Not good. He padded over, sat in the chair next to hers. “Ren?” he asked softly.

**[Protect]**

 

She froze, stiffening, and then very slowly lifted her head, peering over at him with an almost wary expression. "I'm sorry," she said after a moment, voice rough from crying. "I didn't mean to wake you."

 

“What's wrong?”

 

She shook her head, dropping her eyes, and it didn't seem like she was going to answer. Then she said, very quietly, "I just... I was thinking of..." She sighed. "Seeing Ori, what happened to... to the..."

 

“The egg. The village.” He’d seen worse. But she….she hadn't. She didn't have the armor and scars that guarded one from that pain.

 

Ren nodded. "I... I had a mate. We wanted children. I..." She paused, and when she went on it was so soft it was hard to hear. "Three times, we tried. I... failed. Every time. All three died before they ever broke their shells."

 

Oh.  _ Oh. _

“I’m sorry. He…” He trailed off. There wasn't anything he could say to that. “He didn't make it off the island, did he?”

Dammit, why did he say that?

 

But Ren gave him a sad look. "My mate? Oh, he made it off. He left years ago." She sighed. "I wasn't a good mate. I couldn't give him hatchlings. He... didn't stay."

 

“Sounds like a bastard, then,” he said. “Having kids isn't why people should marry.”

Oh, thank God, he hadn't made a  _ complete _ idiot of himself. Yet. He folded his arms, leaned back in his chair.

 

"No. But he wanted a family, and he couldn't have one with me."

 

“Still. Shouldn't have based it on that one thing,” he said softly. He looked at her. “Is that why you asked me not to leave, earlier?”

 

She shut her eyes. "I'm not asking... for that... from you. I know it’s not... I just..." She took a breath. "I care about you. I worry about you. I feel... And I just... don't want you to... push me away."

 

He shook his head. “The mission is protect. You and Cassiel both. Can't do that by leaving either of you.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “You gave me a mission, a  _ purpose. _ I’m not sure how I can explain how much that means to me.”

 

"You don't have to," she said quietly. "Having a purpose, being needed..." Her expression grew reflective. "My village gave me that, when I was... left alone. There was always something. Little ones to look after. Harvests to bring in and game to bring down. Dangers to be watched for and guarded against. I was  _ needed _ . Losing them, losing that... it cut me adrift." She shook her head again. "Everyone needs an anchor. Something... or someone... to care about." Her eyes fixed on him. "A purpose." A glance at the bedroom, and a slight smile. "Or two."

 

“Seems we have a similar mission, then,” he said, answering her smile with one of his own. He removed his hand, sat back in his chair.

 

She noticed his lack of a shirt, then. And his scars. Her eyes widened, but then understanding dawned.

 

He nodded. “They could fix them. Even now. But…”

 

"But that would only hide what they can't fix?" she asked, voice soft.

 

She  _ understood _ . He nodded, and gestured at the burns. From the front, they were less extensive, only covering most of the right half of his torso and about halfway down his right arm. “You saw.”

 

"Yes. That was... I'm sorry."

 

“Not your fault.” Not his own either, despite what parts of him said on the worst nights. “The rest are from battles.”

 

"Battles like the ones in those videos?" she asked. She winced. "Those were awful, too."

 

“Some were like those. Some were better. Most were worse.” He shrugged.

 

“I can only imagi--”

 

An earth-shaking boom crashed from outside, and he ducked reflexively.  Ren went rigid, grabbing the arms of her chair and giving Glen a panicked look. In the other room, Cassiel sat up in bed, bleary and confused. Another crash shook the castle, and he gasped, wide awake. "Glen!"

 

_ [Recognized] _

**[Reinforcements. Steel rain.]**

“It's alright. The Commonwealth is dropping fortifications,” he said, standing. There had to be a window somewhere….

 

Ren shuddered, eyes far away for a moment, but calmed down. She stood too, and went to Cassiel as he untangled himself from the blankets and came out into the main room.

 

The steady sound of impacts continued to sound as Glen nodded to Cassiel. “It’s alright,” he repeated.

 

Cassiel started to make a handsign, then blinked and asked out loud instead. "What's happening?" Glen noticed a couple of little blue lights -- those Sparks -- skittering around the boy's head like curious bees.

 

“I think our being on trial has annoyed the fleet. They're dropping fortifications and soldiers from orbit. It's loud, scary, and makes a defensive position that can be manned in seconds,” he explained.

 

“It’s a scare tactic with  _ teeth _ , then,” Ren commented.

 

“Pretty much,” he said. “Should make it obvious to Sheshne and the other idiots how much trouble they’re in, if they haven't seen the footage Grenmat got.” He paused. “I should probably put a shirt on,” he said.

 

"Probably," said Ren, retrieving her own and Cassiel’s shoes.

 

He grinned, and headed back into the bedroom to dress as the sound of falling defenses and weaponry reverberated throughout the castle. It took less than a minute to pull on shirt, vest, coat and boots.

He left his head bare. His cap had been abandoned in Miranda's shuttle anyway.

He returned, taking a chair that faced the entrance. “What do you want to bet Sheshne the Incompetent shows up to yell at us about this?” he asked with false grumpiness.

 

As if on cue, a familiar voice from outside. "What are you doing? Get away from the window and back to your posts! And you, why are you out here when you should be in there? What is going-- oh, never mind. Out of my way!"

 

And Sheshne himself burst into the room, red-faced and wound up tighter than a clock spring.

 

“Can I help you?” Glen said coolly.

 

That turned Sheshne's face even redder. " _ What is going on out there? _ " He pointed toward the windows, in the direction of the ongoing drop.

 

“Commonwealth fortress drop. I think they wanted to make a point,” Glen said calmly. “For an island this size...An airfield, barracks, armor depot….call it two companies of mechanized infantry, a dozen tanks, and a couple of VTOL gunships for CAS. With more coming in conventionally later.”

 

Sheshne sputtered. "You-- But that-- They can't do that! These are  _ crown lands _ ! This-- this is... an invasion!"

 

“Pretty sure they consider it establishing an embassy,” he said. Oh, he was  _ enjoying _ this. “If we wanted to invade, you’d already be dead.”

 

"An em-- an  _ embassy _ ? Right outside my walls?"

 

" _ Your _ walls?" said Ren, casual. Nice work.

 

"I-- Th-the Council-- the court-- The... Greenstone's walls!"

 

“And, yes, right outside,” Glen said. “And the soldiers for security.”

 

Sheshne was apoplectic. He pointed a finger at Glen -- it shook -- and his mouth opened, but nothing came out. He just stood there, breathing hard. 

 

Then, slowly, he straightened. "Fine," he said, voice low. " _ Fine. _ Play your games. Scare the Council out from under me, make your demands, get what you want." He nodded sharply. "But I'll get mine. I promise you that."

 

**[Careful]**

“Good luck,” Glen said cheerily, giving his most insolent grin.

_ [That was not what he meant.] _

He mentally urged the mission to shut up. He knew what he was doing.

 

A long moment passed while Sheshne tried to stare him down. It didn't work. Finally, the Demeki turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

 

Outside, they heard his voice, lashing out with vehemence. "Get in there, you lackwit slackoff! And don't leave your post again!"

 

"The guard I relieved said..."

 

" _ Get in there! _ " Sheshne snarled.

 

A guard came in, taking up the post vacated by the guard Daml sent away the night before. He looked at them rather uncertainly.

 

Glen gave the man a little wave. “Hey.”

 

The guard blinked. "Um. ...hello?"

 

“Sorry about that,” he said, nodding to the entrance. 

 

The guard said nothing, only watching them warily. His hand tightened reflexively on his spear as the sounds of the 'embassy' going up outside continued.

 

“You know, if that's a Confederacy operation out there, it's about as close as they get to being subtle,” he said to Ren.

 

“They must have a generous definition of the word ‘subtle’,” she replied, smiling.

 

“They're Shikanen,” he said. “Anything that doesn't involve exploding the enemy immediately is subtle by their standards,” he said with a grin. “And 'overt’ is parking a dreadnought over the area.”

A shadow fell through the window as a drone of immense engines pulsed through the air, while the impacts faded away at the same time.

 

Ren's eyes got big. She pointed upward. "Is that...?"

 

“Well, looks like they just upgraded to overt,” he told her with a lazy grin. He stood, walking over to the narrow, glassless window.  Cassiel joined him there, and after a moment so did Ren.

 

Sure enough, the grey bulk of a Shikanen dreadnought, three kilometers long, loomed over the island. He could make out the long wedge at the bow that jutted above and below the main hull, filled with the fixed coilguns that dominated the Shikanen arsenal. Turrets with barrels nearly the size of Greenstone's towers turned lazily in their mounts, only the vast armored underside of the ship visible.

“Hmm…..I think the base that fell is the Commonwealth embassy, and  _ that  _ is the Confederacy one,” he mused aloud.

 

Ren peered up at the ship in awe. Cassiel grinned, eyes alight with curiosity. “It’s like a metal island,” he said, “that goes wherever they want it to.”

 

"You know," said Ren, "let's just say that the word ‘subtle’ isn't part of  _ anyone's _ relevant vocabulary anymore."

 

“Works for me,” Glen said. He looked over at the guard. “Hey, what's your name?”

 

The guard took a moment to regain control of his lower jaw -- he had stepped up close enough behind them to get an upward glimpse through the window, and seen part of the ship -- and then said, without much conviction, "It's... ah... it's Ferden."

 

“What do  _ you _ think of all this, Ferden?” he asked.

 

Ferden answered slowly. "I think I suddenly realize that I've always wanted to move to the country. Some other country. Very far away from here..." 

 

He looked back up at the dreadnought, which had stopped, hovering over Greenstone. “I think you might want to act on that. Based on Councilman Bonehead’s reaction, I don't trust him not to do something stupid and poke the bear.”


	38. Turns out a floating murder island gives a +6 to negotiation

Cassiel didn't mind waiting in the suite. He knew why they were there -- well, mostly, something about Glen and Ren being in trouble with the Council -- and that it wasn't a good thing, but Glen wasn't worried so Cassiel wasn't, either. And they were all there together, so really, it didn't seem so bad.

 

There'd been lots of interesting visitors, too. And then  _ the ship _ . The ship was  _ amazing _ . It was bigger than the island! It practically  _ was _ an island! He could have stared up at that all day. Well, that and the hubbub going on on the ground, which Glen called an 'embassy'. Cassiel didn't know what an embassy was, but apparently it had to do with walls and ships and big metal things called tanks. And soldiers. Lots of those. It was fun to watch them moving around down there, and try to guess what everything was and what everybody was doing.

 

He and Glen and Ren had just been going to have lunch, which was brought to them right there in the suite, when the fancy armor man with the crooked nose came in to tell them that the Council had 'summoned' them. It only meant 'wants you to come see them'. Why didn't adults just say things?

 

Glen gave his plate of food, which he'd been just about to sit down to, an odd look. Then he sighed, shrugged, and they all followed Crooked Nose through the castle and back to the big room where the Council apparently always were. Did they ever leave? It sure didn't seem like it.

 

Sure enough, there they all were. The man with the Guard insignia on his tunic, the healer lady, the mancer, the curly-haired one who asked lots of questions, Lord Obnoxious who yelled a lot, the one with squinty eyes, the archivist, and the distracted Blessed in his grey robes. Crooked Nose sat down with the rest.

 

They weren't alone.

 

The three men in formal suits were back, as were three more Shikanen. The huge aliens were dressed in armored vests and trousers, with thick gold and black collars around their necks. They were glaring at the Council as one, while the formal men sat serenely next to them.

Glen walked up towards the table, and one of the Shikanen stopped glaring long enough to nod respectfully in his direction, before immediately turning back and resuming his venomous stare.

 

The angry man -- what was his name? Shush-something? -- cleared his throat. He nodded to Glen, then Ren. He swallowed. Glanced at the diplomats. Eyed the Shikanen. Tugged at the collar of his robes. Was he going so say something, or what? Finally he did. "We have deliberated on the matter of the charges against Glen Carviss and Renma of the Reaches. It was no simple question. The... ramifications... of our decision had to be weighed, as well as the facts of the cases themselves. As regards said cases, there was no real question of guilt or innocence. The actions of both parties cannot really be disputed. Crimes  _ were _ committed."

 

The Shikanen’s glares intensified.

 

Shusher continued in a hurry. " _ However _ . However." He swallowed again. "Circumstance was also a factor, and one which required consideration. Strong consideration."

 

The largest of the Shikanen, black fur shot through with greying streaks, spoke. “Get to the point.”

 

Shush 'em nodded. "Point. Yes. The point. Ah... in light of the fact that Glen Carviss is not of our court, but a foreign agent, and in the interest of developing positive relations with your people--"

 

"Don't forget the state we'd be in if he  _ hadn't _ rid us of a corrupt queen and hunted down a powerful sorcerer for us," said the healer lady, Grenmat. "By which I mean 'dying off one child at a time, and the rest of us to follow soon after'."

 

"Yes," said Sheshee, slowly, pointedly not looking at her. "That, too. In view of all that... the Interim Council has decided to drop all charges against Glen Carviss, and release him from custody, effective at once.”

 

“Provided," Crooked Nose added, holding up a hand, "that he leave Greenstone immediately, and does not return."

 

The Shikanen diplomats exchanged looks, and the greying one spoke again. “And Renma of the Reaches?”

 

Shush Up opened his mouth, but the archivist answered before he could. "Renma  _ is _ of our court, albeit only as of the last few months, and so there are certain traditions that must be respected." She smiled at Ren. "Crimes... if they can be called that in this instance, all things considered... like these can only be pardoned by a monarch. But the Council puts forth the recommendation that Renma  _ should _ be pardoned, in full, as soon as the succession has taken place and our new Queen ascends her throne."

 

“Erm… That may take a bit of time," she admitted. "As there is... some contention around the question of who, exactly, our new Queen should be."

 

Nods from the Shikanen, and the greying one turned to the humans. “As your government controls the fleet entire, we cede the decision to you,” he said.

The diplomat in the middle nodded. “We find your terms acceptable. I assume further negotiations will be delayed until your succession is sorted out?”

 

“Yes,” said Squinty Eyes. “And we will of course retain custody of Renma until then.”

 

Glen went taut beside him.  Ren put a hand on Glen's arm. "It's alright," she said quietly. "It's just politics now, I can wait it out. I'll be fine."

 

Glen nodded. “Alright.”

 

"Commander Ekor, if you would escort Renma back to her quarters?" said Shut Up, sounding entirely too smug about it. Guard Insignia stood up, and led Ren away. She looked back once, right before she was out of sight, and gave Cassiel and Glen a kind-of-smile.   
  
Cassiel frowned. This didn't feel right. He looked up at Glen, and signed 'dislike'. He could have said it out loud, but he didn't want the others, especially Shush Me, to hear.

 

Glen signed back 'trapped’.

 

‘Unhappy’ he replied. Then he slid his hand into Glen’s and squeezed it.

 

Glen squeezed back, then followed the diplomats and Shikanen as they started to leave.  Cassiel let himself be towed along. There was nothing else to do. But he glanced back as they left, and Lord Shush was smiling in a way Cassiel didn't like.    
  
Not one bit.


	39. Glen gets a visitor

Miranda waited, tapping her toes impatiently, arms folded. The bulk of the Shiker dreadnought overhead provided one hell of a sunshade, hovering over Greenstone like an island of metal.

When Shikanen wanted one of their own back, they made it pretty bloody obvious.

She just hoped that the locals were bright enough to get the message. Normally, she wouldn't worry, but they’d proven dumb enough to detain the Old Man in the first place.

The Commonwealth 'embassy’ was a thinly disguised military base, filled with soldiers in the process of strengthening the defenses. Mostly, that entailed welding things into place, setting up machine guns, and generally looking busy. 

She was grateful she wasn't a ground-pounder. That looked  _ exhausting. _

Ah. There were the diplomats. And the Shiker delegation. And the Old Man and the kid, but not Renma.

The Old Man was going to be in a foul mood already, then. And the fellow who’d requested a flight down wouldn't make him feel any better.

Sure enough, the Old Man and his tiny companion were headed their way, splitting off from the diplomats.

She sighed, leaned back against a wall that hadn't been there a few hours ago, and waited for all hell to break loose.

Zachariah stepped into their path, and the Old Man froze. If looks could kill, there’d be nothing left of the Archon.

 

“Zachariah,” he grated.

 

_ *Azrael.* _

 

“What do you want?”

 

The massive alien sighed.  _ *To apologise. I allowed anger to blind me.* _

 

“ _ That _ is an understatement.”

 

_ *My friend  _ did _ die. But you were not responsible for his end. And if he became you, perhaps part of him still lives on in this world.* _ He nodded to the kid.  _ *The child has helped convince me of that.* _

 

The child in question looked up at the two of them in confusion and, in the Archon's case, some hostility.

 

“You best start making some sense,” the Old Man said softly.

 

_ *I considered you a weapon, little more. But….I was wrong. You care for others as deeply as any man can. More, some would say. You were willing to give your life to protect an innocent, and that….if I continued to persecute you, it would be the worst of crimes.* _

The Archon turned.

_ *I wish you luck in your lot in life. By the authority I have as an Inquisitor of the Church, your bond with the Conclave is no more. Your blade is not needed in its service, and your sins shall no longer be required to defend it. Go forth, and live in peace.* _

 

The Old Man’s jaw dropped as the Archon vanished mid-step.

Miranda vaguely wondered why the big bastard had made her fly him down if he could go wherever he wanted like that.

 

The kid looked up at the Old Man, and tipped his head in a wordless question.

 

The Old Man shook his head. “He just….he took me out of the Conclave, the organization I wo-- worked for. I’m a free man, no longer held to obey their orders.” He smiled. “I can go where I please, now.”

 

A moment passed while the kid contemplated this. Then he nodded, very serious. "Good. Then you can just stay with me and Ren and nobody can make you go anywhere." He smiled back.

 

Looks like the Old Man didn't need her to watch over him any more. 

She smiled slightly, and left the two alone.

She had others to do the job, now.


	40. Sheshne makes still more dumb decisions

The suite felt empty and much more confining without Glen and Cassiel around, and time seemed to pass very slowly for Ren. It didn't help that time seemed to be so much on her mind. Namely, how much time she was going to be spending here. Days? Weeks? Surely it wouldn't take months. But then, it had seemed clear from Lady Daml's words that her claim to the throne was not exactly straightforward, and equally clear that she intended to fight for it anyway. Who knew how long that could drag out?

 

But eventually it got late enough, and Ren grew weary enough, that she went to bed.

 

It seemed only moments later, however, that someone was shaking her shoulder, an unfamiliar voice calling her out of hazy, worrying dreams. "Wake up. Hey. Come on, up!"

 

She opened her eyes.

 

A guard stood over her, looming in the dark room. The moment he saw her eyes were open, he dragged her upright. "Get up," he ordered. "Get dressed. Come on, hurry. The Council wants to see you."

 

"Wh-- now?" she said, looking to the window. The sky outside was black, no hint of dawn.

 

"Immediately," he said. " _ Move _ ."

 

She stumbled out of bed and found her shoes. She barely had them on before he was prodding her again. "Come on, let's go. Up, up!" He had his hand on the hilt of his sword, as if ready to resort to force if she didn't move fast enough.

 

"I'm coming," she muttered.

 

He ushered quickly her out of the suite. The guard that had been in the main room when she went to bed was gone, and neither were there any guards out in the hall. That... wasn't right. "What's this all about?" she asked him.

 

"Don't ask me, ask the council. All I know is that they want you, and they want you  _ now _ ."

 

But he didn't take her to the throne-room-come-council-chambers. He took her to a smaller room, some kind of office. A broad, heavy desk with a high-backed chair behind it. Shelves on the walls, full of books. A brazier in the corner, that did little to combat the night's chill. There were no windows, and a heavy tapestry hung over the entry rather than a mere curtain. The air itself had a plush quiet to it, and when she looked, she caught the hint of mancer symbols on the wall above the door, grey paint on the grey stone, unobtrusive. This was a place for private meetings, for secrets, a place for not being overheard.

 

There were only three people present when she came in. Lord Sheshne, Lord Sorar, and Mancer Deshn. A moment after she had stepped through the entry, three more guards joined the one who had brought her here. They were all four, she noticed, Queen’s Guard. Mancers.

 

Nothing about this was good.

 

Sheshne nodded to her. "Renma," he said, almost curteous.

 

She looked between the three Councilmen. "What is this?"

 

"This is justice," said Sheshne with a grim smile. "Your murderous friend has slipped away, it's true. Regrettable, but there's nothing to be done about it now. My colleagues wanted to make obeisance to their new masters, and no argument could sway them. But you?  _ You're _ not getting out from under this sword. You are not going to make a fool of this court, and you are  _ not _ going to make a fool of  _ me _ ! Your pet monster and his  _ people _ ," he spat the word, "are not going to walk in here and have their way, not in this. The Council's authority  _ will not be undermined _ ."

 

Sorar put a hand on Sheshne's shoulder, and Sheshne jumped as if he'd been shocked. Sorar motioned for him to step back. Reluctantly, he did.

 

"We did not bring you here for discussion," said Sorar, calm and formal and chillingly cold. "We held this meeting to decide upon your sentence. You are here to be informed of the results of our deliberations."

 

"You... you can't just do that. The Council already said--"

 

"Yes we can," Sorar interrupted. "Any three or more Councilmembers, acting in unity, may make a decision or carry out a course of action independently, provided that doing so is necessary for the good of the court or its people."

 

"Which this is," said Deshn. "You are a danger to both."

 

Ren shook her head. "But I'm not!"

 

"No? All of us, and numerous others besides, saw you in the courtyard the day the queen died. Are you saying you didn't have a hand in the magic that was being worked then?"

 

"I... I did, but... I didn't know--"

 

"You participated. Lives were endangered. Queen Temor was killed. Clearly, you have powers which pose a threat to the people of Greenstone, and either harbor malicious intent or else lack the judgement necessary to avoid misuse by accident. It does not matter which. Renma of the Reaches, this Council sentences you to be stripped of your magic, and thus rendered incapable of posing a threat to this or any other court ever again."

 

Ren took a step back. Before she could take another, strong hands caught her arms, holding her in place. She reached for the Essence -- the brazier, it was light and heat, she could borrow that, could Weave -- but a sharp pain under her chin broke her focus, as Deshn pressed the point of a dagger against her throat. "If you attack us, we'll have no choice but to kill you. None could blame us," he said smoothly, "for defending ourselves if our lives were at stake."

 

" _ Please _ ..."

 

They pretended not to hear her.

 

The guards bore her down to the floor. She twisted, kicked, bit one of them... She almost got free, but then one of them straddled her, pinning her arms under his knees and using the weight of his whole body to hold her down. She tried to knee him in the back; someone grabbed her ankles, forced her legs down.

 

Her screams hurt even her own ears, echoing back off the stone walls, but no one outside the room would hear them. The Working over the door saw to that.

 

One of the guards knelt above her and held her head, fingers digging in under her jaw, as Deshn went to the brazier and plucked something out of it. An iron rod, with a metal symbol at one end, glowing red. She struggled harder.

 

Deshn pressed the brand to the base of her left horn.

 

_ Pain _ . Ren screamed, as burning metal bit into horn, scorching embedded nerves and blood vessels, intense  _ heat  _ radiating into her head. He did it to her right horn next, and she thrashed, hardly even aware that she managed to wrench one arm free and nearly upset the guard on top of her. Other hands, and more weight, prevented her escape. Deshn said something -- meaningless noise -- and the Workings activated.

 

Had she thought the branding hurt?  _ This _ was pain. Agony. This was a matched pair of burning lances thrust into her skull, searing twin holes through her head. Ren convulsed.

 

Then blackness.


	41. Morning

The embassy actually _ had  _ a diplomatic office, which he found surprising. Seemed Cidet was making more than just the overtures of being amiable- he actually wanted negotiation. Either that, or he was planning something. Or both. You couldn't discount a nefarious plan when that man was involved. 

As a newly minted civilian, that's where he found himself- in the diplomatic office, not part of a plan.

_ [At least, not that you know of.] _

Shut up.

The beds that were available in the few rooms above the official diplomatic offices were naval cots, not precisely comfortable but better than the usual.  Cassiel had claimed one without complaint; but then, in Glen's week living in the warren, the boy had demonstrated a notable ability to tip over and sleep wherever he happened to be when he got tired. Armchair, wooden bench, under a table. Several times Glen had woken to find Cassiel sound asleep on the floor next to his bed, and that was bare stone.  The boy must have been a soldier in a past life.

 

He rose quickly and dressed quicker, then followed his nose to the communal kitchen. They'd gotten electricity running in minutes, and the smell of brewing coffee--  _ good _ coffee-- proved that. 

The kitchen was deserted, this early in the morning- the sun was scarcely up- but someone had managed to set the coffee to brew at precisely the time he woke up. That was either helpful or very disturbing, he couldn't quite decide which. He scrounged around, found a mug, and poured himself a cup.

 

Cassiel wandered in shortly thereafter, gravitating to Glen despite clearly still being half asleep and not particularly inclined to be up and about yet.

 

Glen ruffled the boy’s hair, and got him a smaller mug, putting it in front of him. Then he added a small pile of sugar packets, and found a bottle of cream in the refrigerator. “Try it, add those until you like the taste,” he said, finding himself a chair.

 

Cassiel sniffed appreciatively. He added some cream and sugar, and gave the brew a taste... and then a rather offended look. More sugar, another taste. More sugar. Eventually the mix seemed to reach an acceptable level of sweetness, and Cassiel took a longer drink.

 

Then added the last two remaining sugar packets, apparently just for good measure.

 

Cassiel grinned. "I like it," he declared.

 

“You’d like mud if you added that much sugar to it,” he teased with a grin.  Cassiel shrugged, and cheerfully took another drink. He was already looking perkier.

 

Glen leaned back in his chair, nursing his own, much larger mug, black as Sheshne's heart. “Looks like we'll be here a while. I don't intend to leave until Ren’s free.”

 

Cassiel nodded his agreement. "How long will they make her stay there?"

 

“Don't know. However long it takes to figure out who’ll be ruling them. They’ll work as fast as possible, I know that.” He motioned to the building around them, and by extent everything else the fleet had brought. “It's in their best interests.”

 

"That's good." Cassiel paused. "I don't like the Council. Especially Shush 'Em."

 

Ah. Sheshne. “Some of them  _ are _ decent,” he said. “But yes, Lord Bonehead is not among them.” He paused. “People like him, they’re why we don't have a hereditary nobility back home. Sooner or later, it lets an idiot in. And when idiots rule, revolution is just around the corner.”

 

"Who do you make queen if you--" Before Cassiel could finish the question, an ensign entered the room. He spotted Glen and came over.

 

Glen raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” Ensigns were the fleet’s gofers, always sent to deliver messages. Seemed Cidet wasn't through with him even if the Conclave was.

 

"There's been a message from the castle," the ensign said. "Lord General Cidet wants to see you."

 

He nodded to Cassiel. “Let's get going, then.”  Cassiel downed the last of his coffee and stood. The ensign led the way  out of the diplomatic office and to the military headquarters. Inside, Cidet paced in front of a hologram showing Domhan. He turned as Glen entered. “Read this,” he said, holding out a small scroll of parchment. Glen took it.

 

It was heavy paper, marked at the top by an emblem depicting a compass rose pierced by two crossed spears. The handwriting was elegant. Stylized, but not enough to be hard to read.

 

Unfortunately.

 

_ To the Embassy of the Commonwealth of Star Systems, and to Glen Carviss. _

 

_ We send this missive to you by way of our personal messenger, that it might reach you as fast as possible. It has just come to our attention that a short council, composed of Lord Sheshne and two others, convened in the night to pass sentence upon Renma. It was done without the knowledge or consent of the remainder of the Interim Council, and revealed in the form of a document drawn up by the three in question, which was presented to the full Council only this morning. In this document, Renma of the Reaches was judged guilty of using dark magic against Greenstone and its people, and was sentenced to be stripped of her magic, with recommendation that the sentence be carried out immediately. _

 

_ We regret to confirm that this was indeed done. _

 

_ We have placed Renma under our personal protection, and intend to see that she is conducted safely into appropriate hands. We only wish we could have had the foresight to do so sooner, and prevented the events of this past night altogether. _

 

It was signed,  _ Lady Daml _ , followed by a string of titles and offset by a wax seal.

 

Breath in. Breath out. Ground yourself. Don't think about the message. Loosen your grip.

“What do we do now?” he asked, voice strange and cold and harsh to his ears.

Cidet looked at him. “You will retrieve her. Then...we shall see.”

He nodded, stood. Let the fire burn, but leashed. Controlled. “What about me never returning?”

Cidet smiled thinly. “They broke their word first.”

“And you haven't told the Shikanen…”

“Because I have no desire to see a massacre.”

He nodded again.

“I will go, then.”

**[And if** **_he_ ** **is found…]**

He started walking.  Cassiel hurried after him, a sharp worry line etched between his eyes..

 

The gate stood open, so he continued, onto the plain that led to the castle.

 

The entrance to Greenstone was a broad archway with a portcullis, which was already up, leading to a short tunnel through the thick outer wall. There was an official-looking man in purple livery waiting with the guards there, and when he saw Glen coming, he nodded and led him through into the castle without a word.

 

Good. He wouldn't need to carve his way through.

 

Their escort guided them to one of the towers, immediately apparent as a realm of the nobility. Wider halls, ornate fixtures, embroidered silk curtains over the entryways, liveried servants on the move around every turn.

 

At the end a hall, three guards shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the entrance to a suite, roundly ignoring a familiar, irate figure trying to argue, intimidate, and otherwise annoy his way past them, to no avail.

 

**[KillkillripandtearKILL]**

“Sheshne,” he said, in a voice as cold as ice.

 

Sheshne turned around. He saw Glen and visibly startled. Then his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here? You've been banished from this court!"

 

“And Ren was a free woman. Seems we both fail at keeping promises,” he said, stepping closer.

 

"Oh, I've kept  _ my _ promise," said Sheshne, stepping back but not breaking his glare. "I said I'd get my pound of flesh, and I have. And I'm going to see it through, however hard you, and the supporters your terror tactics have bought you, try to interfere."

 

Hands shot out and grasped Sheshne's wrists. “Now, listen, you half-wit snake,” he hissed quietly. “The  _ only _ reason you haven't been killed is because we value your  _ people _ , and their right to choose their own rulers. So I won't kill you.” His grip tightened, and he felt the man's bones creak. “ _ But I’ll make you wish I had _ .”

He twisted, hard, and felt the small bones in Sheshne's wrists and hands shatter. 

Sheshne screamed, writhing in his grip in a desperate effort to free himself. That only made it worse, of course, as sharp splinters of bone ground against each other or dug into flesh. The bastard's knees gave out, and he half collapsed, sobbing and cursing in equal measure.

 

He let go of the man’s shattered wrists, and turned to the guards. “Take me to her. Now.”

 

The guards parted to let him and Cassiel into the suite, stepping neatly back into position after they'd passed and paying absolutely no mind to the wailing heap of a man on the floor at their feet.

 

Inside, it was quiet -- enchantments to block noise from outside, apparently, since the curtain certainly couldn't have kept Sheshne's yelling out. Daml was there, standing beside a table with some papers on it, glancing up and looking not at all surprised to see him.

 

"In there," she said quietly, without preamble. Unlike the suite they had been kept in, this one had several rooms attached. The one she nodded to was the only one with the curtain pulled.

 

He entered quietly, closing the curtain behind him.  A bedroom, the windows covered and the lights dimmed. Two beds, one empty and the other…

 

Oh, God.

 

Ren's eyes were open but they stared vacantly. She had bruises on her arms, and under her jaw; a short, shallow cut on her neck. At the base of each horn, a blackened symbol, burned deep. And above one eyebrow, another burn, as if whatever implement had been used to brand her horns had slipped and touched the skin there.

 

Alona leaned over her, daubing a clear salve on the burn above her eye. Ren didn't react. 

 

“Ren…”

He heard his voice breaking, and didn't care. He ran to the bed, and stood, frozen. The burns….tearing through the nerves that granted her her magic. She'd fought, but they'd held her down, threatened her...

He was shaking.

 

She blinked, and after a moment her eyes tracked slowly over until she found him.

 

“I gave her thaebane,” said Alona. “For pain, but it has a sedative effect. Which she's fighting, stubborn girl.”

 

He nodded stiffly. “How soon can I get her out of here?” he rasped.

 

Ren’s hand moved, searching, her eyes fixed on him.

 

“Do your people have healers with them? A medical ward?” Alona asked.

 

He took Ren’s hand in his own before answering. “We have a hospital ship. About the size of the one that’s overhead. And better healing than anything not magic,” he said quietly. “Better than magic, in some cases.”

 

“Good. You can take her there, then. Just as well; magic can't fix this. I don't know if anything can.”

 

Ren squeezed his hand, and sighed deeply. Her eyes drifted closed.

 

He picked her up carefully. She seemed smaller than he remembered as he carried her, head nestled against his shoulder.

 

Cassiel shadowed them out into the main room, silent and solemn. Daml gave them a nod, looking at Ren with genuine regret. “I am sorry,” she said softly.

 

He ignored her, and kept walking.  The guards stepped aside for them. Sheshne was gone, the hall deserted. No one tried to stop them as they made their way down the tower, or through the castle, or out of it.


	42. Daml deals with other people's bad decisions

Queen Daml, Daughter of the Royal Blood, Servant of the Court, Protector of the Isles, Ruler of the Isle and the Crown Lands of Greenstone, contemplated her ascension to the throne. 

 

She would like to have said that she was Queen because hers was the superior claim to the crown, or because the people had greater confidence in her than in the other contender, or perhaps because the gods had favored her. And it could be argued that those things were true. But they were not what had placed the crown on her head, the orb and scepter -- metaphorically, as there had been no coronation yet --  in her hands.

 

No, it was the declaration of war that did that. The announcement by the aliens that hostilities would commence in forty-eight hours, and that they had exactly that much time to get out of the castle or be obliterated along with it. After the castle’s destruction -- about which there was no question, no chance of stopping it -- the Commonwealth might,  _ might _ , be willing to negotiate for peace. But not, they had made clear, if the Interim Council continued to represent Greenstone’s people. The aliens would only treat with the ruling Monarch. And there had been… not recommendations, exactly, but pointed observations, about which of the contenders the aliens thought was better suited to leadership, and thus more likely to be well-received when or if negotiations were to take place.

 

All of this had been backed up by a ticking, glowing clock that continued to count down, left in the base the aliens had abandoned shortly after Carviss had taken Renma back with him. The island-ship had left soon after, impossibly fast. Sheshne hadn't been in any condition to crow about it, mercifully. The healers had said it was likely he’d never regain the use of his hands.  Not that he would have much time to try.

 

She watched the clock as her people filed out of Greenstone. Only a few hours left, now.  They had taken everything they could to the village on the other side of the island. Food and supplies first, all that they had, emptying the castle's storerooms. Then relocating the people, who brought with them whatever they could carry of their own lives. The little village couldn't even begin to house them all, but enough room had been found that the ill and the elderly, and at least some of the families with children, would have roofs to sleep under, even if they had only floors and benches to sleep  _ on _ . For everyone else, tents, pavilions, and makeshift shelters had to do, set up in the fields outside the village usually reserved for grazing animals.

 

Everything in the treasury was moved, which was not as much as she might have hoped. It would be precious little to rebuild with -- if they got the chance to rebuild, and didn't find themselves driven out of their lands altogether -- or even to replenish supplies with. And those supplies had already been driven to dangerously low levels by her predecessor's refusal to engage in trade with other courts, not even for necessities. Hadn't _ that _ been a wonderful surprise.

 

The poor archivists were frantic, trying to preserve what they could of their libraries. But there had been neither the time nor the manpower left over for books and scrolls, nor anywhere for them to be taken to, when any available space in the village must by necessity go to people first. They had to weed the archives, taking only what was deemed the most immediately useful, or too valuable to leave. Much would be lost, as Lady Cosla insisted in lamenting repeatedly. The mancers, too, were going to lose a great deal, but at least she didn't have to hear endless complaints about  _ that _ . Lord Deshn, quite mysteriously, had died in the night. The healers said it must have been a failure of the heart. That his heart had been pierced by a blade may have had something to do with it. But no one had seen a thing, not even the guard posted right outside his door. Lord Sorar, on the other hand, seemed to have suffered a fit of guilt, and jumped from the window of his tower suite. No one questioned that he  _ had _ jumped. The possibility that he might have been pushed simply didn't cross anyone's mind.

 

Time ticked by, all too quickly for her tastes. At the five-minute mark, she heard a soft thump behind her.

_ *Your Majesty.* _

 

She turned. It was one of the giant rhudit-like aliens, this one in white robes. He had apparently arrived the way certain of them could: right out of thin air. That was not as disconcerting as the way his words seemed to echo inside her head, having skipped her ears entirely. “Hello,” she said. Informal, but it didn't seem relevant at the moment. Not when her people were about to lose their home.

 

_ *Your people's evacuation has been completed.* _

 

“It has.”

 

_ *Then I will take up position. My colleagues will deal the blow.* _ He regarded her sternly.  _ *You left one of your own inside. I assume it was deliberate?* _

 

“Lord Sheshne has declined to participate in the evacuation," she said smoothly. That was what he'd said, after all. That it was all a bluff, a fear tactic; that the aliens weren't really going to destroy the castle, they just wanted, as he'd put it, 'to watch their new puppets dance on command', and that he wasn't leaving and no one else should either. She had commanded that the evacuation proceed, despite his oh-so-highly-regarded council, but had generously seen dear Sheshne conducted up to the royal tower and made comfortable. Then she'd had the gates sealed. To ensure he wouldn't be disturbed, of course. 

 

If he didn't want to leave, she certainly wasn't going to force him. That would be disrespectful to his position as a valued advisor.

 

_ *Of course. What he did to that girl…* _ The alien shook his massive head.  _ *If one of our own had done something similar, his life would have been measured in minutes.* _ He turned.  _ *I would advise your people not look directly at the castle while we do our work.* _

 

"Thank you," she said. For the warning... and for acknowledging what she had done. "I will see that all who intend to watch are warned." She didn't have to say a thing, of course; one of her attendants -- they had hung back, allowing her space to watch the clock and brood a bit, but they were near enough to have heard -- scurried away to pass the message along, unasked.

 

The alien left quietly. Three minutes left.  She had time, yet, to make it back to the village. She could have watched from a distance, there with the others. But instead she went after the alien, propelled by a whim to see what, exactly, he was going to do. Her people were where they needed to be; orders were in place. There was nothing left to do now but watch, and if it was dangerous to do that from here, she suspected the alien would have warned her.

 

He walked slowly, past the open gate of the alien base, onto the field between it and Greenstone. He stood before the walls.

 

He waited.

 

A chime, loud enough to be heard even with her distance from the clock, rang through the air.

Daml stiffened as an immense lightning bolt slammed into Greenstone's tallest tower, shattering it utterly as flames sprang from every window and door in the castle.  A small corner of her mind momentarily felt sorry for Sheshne, trapped in there... until she remembered that it was  _ Sheshne _ , the man who had caused all this, and the empathy vanished.

The other two rhudit-men appeared in an instant, glowing and hovering.

 

Another bolt, and another, ripping through towers and walls. The flames roared higher and higher, reaching for the sword-wielder and crashing back down like orange waves; the heat washed against her skin, sharp even from a distance. Stonework crumbled and fell, and ancient spells burst free in rainbow colors of chaos, scattering debris that spun out from the holocaust only to reverse direction and plow into the shattering walls with redoubled speed.

 

The lightning rained down, brighter and brighter, as the flames rose to meet it, burning hotter and hotter.  It forced her back until she was at the gates of the alien compound again, a hand up to shield her ineffectually from the light, the heat. She heard her attendants trying to call her back farther, and one even grasped her arm -- the height of offense, under most circumstances, to touch the Queen -- and tried to pull her away, but she wouldn't go. Some morbid fascination had taken hold of her, something that, despite every instinct to run, refused to even look away, much less flee.

 

White light, pure and blinding, grew in the center of the inferno that Greenstone had become, swelling larger and larger until it encompassed the entire castle.

 

Then it faded, taking the remnants with it.  She lowered her hand slowly, lifting her head to see what they had made of her home. 

 

A black, glassy scar marked where Greenstone had been.

 

_ *It is done.* _

 

She drew a shaky breath, but did not speak. Her voice could not be trusted just yet. A long moment passed before she could find words, and the steadiness to speak them without faltering. "So I see."

 

_ *We have some slight recompense for you.* _ Ahead of the scar, the air  _ twisted _ , and deposited….was that the entirety of the archives?  The too heavy or too bulky -- or simply less vital than other items -- relics and tools and texts left behind by the mancers, the healers,  and even the Blessed? And all the abandoned possessions, too.  Even a child's doll, probably dropped in the exodus when fearful parents would not go back for anything less than the child themselves.

 

A roar of engines came from overhead, and the robed alien looked up.

 

_ *Ah. Our diplomats return.* _

 

"I... do not understand..."

 

The alien nodded to her.  _ *You will find we can be generous in victory,*  _ he said.  _ *You will find Greenstone stronger than it was.* _

 

He vanished as the shuttle touched down.

 

Lady Daml spent a fleeting moment wallowing in awe and astonishment and no small measure of confusion, behind a carefully blank expression. Then  _ Queen _ Daml signaled for her attendants to come out of the aliens' base and rejoin her as she approached the waiting shuttle. She would not blame any of them for running, but surprisingly few of them had. Good. They would serve her well, in the negotiations -- and other frightening things -- to come.


	43. Bad news and a job offer

“I’m sorry, but we can't do anything to heal the damage,” the healer, an alien, insect-like woman in white robes, said regretfully. “The horns themselves can be repaired, but the internal damage is too great.”

 

Glen frowned from his seat next to Ren’s bedside.  Ren only nodded, eyes down. At least she was awake now. She'd slept so deeply that even the not-seen around her barely moved, all day the day before. Cassiel had started to wonder if she was ever going to wake up.

 

“We dealt with most of the secondary issues, but the areas of the brain that dealt with your magic are gone for good. Any attempt to heal them...neural scarring has already set in, and if we operated it could have disastrous consequences. Again, I’m sorry.” She bowed her head. “The bastards who did this should have been shot,” she muttered.

 

One of them had been Shush 'Em, Cassiel knew, and Glen might not have killed him, but he had paid him back for hurting Ren. The man's wrists had made a sound like softwood on a fire, a cacophony of cracks and pops.

 

Ren said, quietly, "You did what you could. Thank you."

 

She nodded, and left the ward.

 

Cassiel frowned. This didn't make sense. Was Ren still hurt, or wasn't she? He shifted his focus, and looked again. The not-seen around her didn't carry marks of injury, although there were dim, dark colors in it hinting that she was hurting in a different way.

 

He glanced at Glen... and stared. Glen's not-seen  _ burned _ , hard and smoldering, larger than he’d ever seen it before. Raw, smoking  _ rage _ dominated it, barely leashed. He’d never seen anything like it.

 

Cassiel slid off his chair, going over to rest a hand lightly on Glen's arm. "It'll be okay," he said. Trying to reassure, but it came out half a question. He looked at Ren, who smiled for him but only thinly, then at Glen, whose shoulders remained stiff, jaw tense. Wouldn’t it? He wasn’t sure.

 

“I failed you,” Glen said bitterly to Ren, voice quiet. “I…”

 

"No, you didn't," said Ren. "There's nothing we could have done differently. We had to work with what we knew, had to take the Council at their word. What choice was there?"

 

“I could have stayed, demanded they let me remain until you were free…”

 

"They wouldn't have let you." She sat up, slowly, closing her eyes for a moment as if dizzy. Then she went on. "A military base at their door, and a ship the size of an  _ island _ hanging over the castle, wasn't enough to sway them to simply let us both leave. That tells me Sheshne was still influencing them more than it seemed at the time. He  _ planned _ this, and he would have found a way to keep you out, or a way to separate us. Or worse, he would have hurt you too."

 

Glen snarled, then slumped. “You're right,” he said softly. Cassiel looked at Glen's not-seen again.  The  _ rage  _ was still there, but muted by  _ fear _ and  _ worry. _

 

Ren leaned forward, catching Glen's hand where it rested on the edge of the bed, and twined her fingers with his.  Glen sighed heavily, and squeezed her hand gently.  "It'll... be okay," said Ren, smiling at Cassiel as she repeated his words.

 

Glen nodded slowly. “And if not, we’ll make it so.”

 

Cassiel smiled. 'Together', he signed. Sometimes that was still more comfortable than saying things. But he noticed Ren watching his hands, puzzled, so he said it again out loud. "Together." She copied the signal he'd made, and nodded.

 

“If that's what you want, then I believe I have a job for the two of you.” Cassiel looked around as a stern, sharp-eyed man -- Cidet, he remembered -- stepped into the ward.

“What sort?” Glen asked warily.

Cidet shrugged. “Greenstone’s holdings alone lack the surface area to support us. And we didn't bring very many diplomats.  _ And _ you're both unattached to any current occupations.”

 

“You want  _ me _ to be a diplomat,” Glen stated flatly.  Ren gave Cidet a baffled look. It was a little funny, both of them, and Cassiel smiled.

 

“Well, yes,” Cidet said. “And Renma as well. Less of a diplomat, more of an emissary.”

 

“And what sort of messages would we be carrying?”

 

“Simple enough. Let us land, and we'll trade and share what we have, and treat them fairly. Do us a bad turn, and we'll respond in kind,” Cidet said, eyes hard.

 

Ren shivered, looking down. Cassiel thought he knew why; Greenstone might not be home to  _ them _ anymore, but it was still home to lots of other people, and most of them were not Shush 'Em. A bunch of them didn't even like Shush 'Em. But when the two-day timer ran out... well, Greenstone wouldn't be home to  _ anyone _ after that.

 

"I can't imagine anyone will turn down an offer of alliance, once word of... all this... spreads," said Ren slowly. "No queen with any sense at all would want to repeat Greenstone's mistakes."

 

“Does that mean you accept?”

 

Glen shrugged. “I go where she does.”

 

That turned the corners of Ren's mouth up in a better smile than she'd managed so far. After a moment, she turned back to Cidet and nodded. "Then... I suppose it does, yes."

 

“Excellent. Your first assignment is tomorrow, after we heal your horns.”


	44. Signing

Ren blinked as bright light flooded into the shuttle, and the ramp came down with a thump on the grassy turf. She and Glen, trailed by Cassiel, went down the ramp and out onto the open parkland surrounding the castle. Or rather, surrounding the place where the castle wasn't. Gone were the soaring towers, the delicate arches, the walkways and balconies; gone the thick stone walls, the great iron portcullis, the gatehouse. All that was left was an imprint, where the ground was rendered into black, glassy stone. How many centuries had Greenstone castle stood? How many queens had sat the throne there, how many generations had hatched, lived, and died under their rule, within those ancient walls?

 

It was only at Glen's prompting, a quiet clearing of the throat, that she remembered what they were here for. Not to stare in morbid awe at the destruction, but to meet with the people left in its wake.

 

She turned. A vast collection of goods sat on the grass in the other direction, looking absurdly out of place there -- ah, right, the things the fleeing court had been forced to leave behind, spirited out of the castle at the last minute as a show of good will on the part of the Commonwealth.

 

But more important, the person walking past it all, toward the shuttle. A woman, stepping as neatly and gracefully through the grass as if it were a velvet runner, chin up, expression composed. Lady Daml.

 

Queen Daml, now, as declared by the golden crown resting firmly on her head, inlaid jewels bright against her dark hair.

 

People came up out of nowhere, emerging from the shelter of the abandoned base or scurrying across the grass from the direction of the village. They hurried to fall into place around Daml, so that by the time she stepped into the shadow of the shuttle she had acquired a full retinue of attendants and retainers, many whose functions Ren was not well enough versed in royal procedure to recognize. Ren didn't give them much attention, though. She focused on Daml, studying her.

 

Though the new Queen's expressions were as careful and restrained as ever, there was a tension in her that had been absent before. She looked pale, and the set of her mouth was tighter, less neutral. Her gaze went to Glen, then moved to Ren, and lingered there. Ren fought the urge to reach up and touch her own horns, self-conscious of the patches of smooth, shiny new growth at the base of each.

 

Glen bowed shallowly, straightening after holding it for the briefest moment required to be polite. “I would assume you are willing to discuss peace?” he asked flatly.

 

"Yes," said Daml. "We are." Ren wasn't sure if that was the formal plural at play, or if Daml simply meant to indicate that the court, as a whole, wanted peace.

 

“Good.” He indicated the base. “Shall we? What will be discussed is best done over a table, not standing in a field.”

 

"That would be preferable," Daml agreed. She turned, and began walking back toward the base. She didn't exactly lead, but neither did she wait for Glen or Ren to. Once inside the base, she slowed, allowing Glen to move ahead and guide them to what turned out to be some kind of meeting room. Glen, Ren, and Cassiel took seats on one side of the table, and Daml positioned herself on the other. Daml smiled faintly as they sat down before she did. Ren had a feeling Glen had orchestrated that on purpose. And that Daml recognized the slight for what it was: a reminder not to let outdated traditions get in the way of reasonable interaction.

 

Daml spent a few moments conferring with some of the people in her train. The majority of them left, given various instructions and tasks to carry out. One of those that stayed, a young man dressed in Archivists' yellow, sat down beside her with a sheaf of papers, a full inkwell, and a freshly cut pen, poised to record every detail of the meeting. He began writing before any of them had even said a word.

 

Glen drew a large scroll from under his coat, unrolled it, and set it in front of Daml. “These are our terms,” he said bluntly.

 

Ren watched Daml's face as she read the document. It was an official declaration of peace, with clauses committing Greenstone to granting land for the fleet, and others for 'bringing the defeated party up to a reasonable and modern level of infrastructure’. Daml gave nothing away, reading in intent silence and without much expression. At last she looked up. "It appears... very reasonable. If I understand it correctly, we would give you a portion of our land, and in exchange you would help us rebuild. Yes?"

 

“Not just rebuild. We would engage in uplift.”

 

Uplift was a concept Glen had been trying to explain the day before, and although Ren wasn't sure she could wrap her head around the full implications, she understood that it would mean incredible change, good change, for her kind and her world. She wanted Daml to understand it too. "That means the fleet will teach you about their technology, their medicine, how they do things. It's... They can do _amazing_ things.” The excitement she felt even thinking about it began to creep into her voice. “You've seen some of their weapons. But think of the _other_ side of that kind of ability: they have power sources that give them light, heat, energy... that _anyone_ can generate, anyone can use. Their healers can do things even our best couldn't _dream_ of. They can communicate with each other, instantly, across vast distances; they could be on opposite sides of Domhan and talk to each other. They could _travel_ that same distance with ease. And all of it without magic. Or, well... with technology."

 

Ren still harbored the idea that technology was its own kind of magic, regardless of Glen's arguments to the contrary.

 

“We did it with the Shikanen, and they became our staunchest allies,” Glen said. “We hope this will bear similar outcomes. We intend to extend the same offer to other isles and courts as well.”

 

Daml paused, then nodded slowly. "I see. More than peace, or even trading. An alliance."

 

“More of a vassalage. The fleet will unite you and build up your nation. In return, food and land.”

 

"I see." Daml was quiet for a moment, studying Glen. "For good or ill, your people have done exactly as they said they would, at every turn. I have no reason and very little inclination to question that this offer is in all ways genuine. But it would be unwise not to raise... certain questions."

 

“Question away.”

 

"I will ask frankly. Forgive me if that offends, but I see no benefit in attempting to dissemble my concern. Why did you come here? And why do you wish to stay? If you are colonists, will more follow?"

 

“We came from war. The final, great battle, after a decade of blood and fire and destruction across galaxies, a fleet thousands upon thousands of ships strong moving upon Terra itself. And then…” he waved a hand. “White light. I’ve checked the clocks and calendars on the fleet. To me, it's been six years since that happened, and dozens of universes I’ve crossed through to get here. But to them….moments.” He took a breath. “Like as not, our military now lies scattered across universes beyond end. But the fragment _here_ ….we had no choice in coming here, and we have no way back.  We have six month’s rations at best, a year if we cut what we have already. Do you have any idea how much twenty thousand Shikanen _eat_ ? We could terraform one of your neighbors, but we’d be long dead of starvation before it was completed. We _need_ food and land, and that's why we wish to stay on this world rather than trying to find another.”

 

Daml nodded. "I... understand." She would, wouldn't she? Now more than ever, she must know the pressure of a people in need. "Domhan is small. We have very little land to begin with." She shook her head. "But I suppose it does little good to question whether it can support us both. If it cannot..."

 

“We all pay the price,” Glen said heavily. “I know.” He tapped the paper. “But that is a question beyond both our stations. The whole world…”

 

"Yes," Daml agreed, almost sighing the word. "Today we can only make decisions for this one small part of it." She looked at Glen, and an out of place expression crossed her face. Curiosity? "If our positions were reversed, what would your people do?"

 

“If things had gone as they have? Fight on, hide, and steal their weapons, and turn them against them. But then again, people like _Sheshne_ would never have gotten power among us.”

 

"Hmm. Sounds less than promising." The faint smile that had tugged up one side of her mouth disappeared just as quickly as it had come. “I would be interested to know how you would have prevented a man like Sheshne from finding himself in a place of power to begin with? People such as him... it seems to be what they are good at, gaining influence and power. I remember Sheshne first making himself known many years ago; I suspect he was the same man even then, but he did a much better job of hiding it. I would never have guessed then what he would come to."

 

“Telepaths. Brain scans. Any time someone wants to be a civil servant, they have to submit to one. Only the ones who aren't in it for the power get the job.”

 

"Perhaps there's more hope for the future than I might have thought." She paused, then said, "As for Sheshne himself... I hope it will reassure you to know that he will not trouble anyone again."

 

Glen smiled thinly. “I know.”

 

Daml looked down at the document on the table. "I would like to request an addendum."

 

Ren exchanged a look with Glen. "What kind of addendum?" she asked.

 

"We have no surviving alliances with other courts,” said Daml. “Even before my predecessor strained our relations with our neighbors, Greenstone was ever in danger of being swallowed up by a larger, stronger court. Other courts still have their Sheshnes and the people who support them, and such people will soon take notice of our weakened state, making that risk higher than ever. If you intend to treat with them, to offer them the same 'uplift', the same access to your technology, that you offer us... Greenstone's disappearance becomes very nearly inevitable. To counter this, I put forth a formal request for your help in defending ourselves and our lands, and maintaining our independence as a court, at least until we have had the opportunity to reestablish ourselves. If you are willing to do so, then I would like to see such measure made an official part of the agreement between us."

 

Glen nodded. “Granted. We intend to restrict military technology for some time in any case, but the fleet will defend Greenstone until it can defend itself.”

 

All of Daml's remaining attendants turned to look at her, even the archivist pausing in his writing to partake of the expectant silence. Daml nodded. "Then, I believe we have... peace."

 

“Sign on the dotted line,” Glen prompted.

 

The archivist offered her a sharpened and inked pen before she could ask. She took it, and signed simply, _Queen Daml of Greenstone_.

 

Glen nodded. “So we have peace, and alliance. Your foes are our foes, your troubles our troubles, your blood our blood.” He stood, and extended a hand. “We stand by you.”

 

Daml stood too, and shook the offered hand. “And we, you,” she responded.

 

Ren smiled. It seemed they were off to a good start.


	45. Hope

Barkton was both the largest and least inhabited of Greenstone's holdings, thick forest from end to end, nearly thirty square kilometers of it. Plenty of space for  _ Caduceus _ to land. The immense hospital ship settled to earth with a rumble as Glen watched through the cockpit window of their shuttle.

He grinned. “That's the biggest one they’re landing,” he said quietly.

 

"Probably the biggest one they  _ could _ land," said Ren. "There aren't many islands this size, at least in this region."

 

“True,” he said, looking at the immense bulk of the ship. “Well, it's our job now to open up those other regions, right?”

 

Ren nodded. "Let's hope it goes so well with the rest."

 

He sighed, leaning back in his chair as he looked at the great grey bulk of the ship below. Built off a converted dreadnought hull, they’d landed it so the bladelike prow hung off the side of the island. Even as he watched, it settled further as gravity pulled at it, sinking a meter or so into the soil.

“One hopes,” he said quietly, standing and walking back into the main room.

Nemesis had done good work on this shuttle, manufacturing what it needed on the fly. It was almost a small house, with kitchen, sitting room, and a pair of bedrooms shoved into the small space. It managed to be….cozy, instead of cramped, though.

**[Home.]**

 

He sank into the couch with a slight smile.  _ Caduceus _ was the last ship that the fleet was actually landing, as well as the biggest. Having a hospital in the planet saved on fuel and time that would normally be spent breaking out of atmosphere. He’d decided that getting a look at the grand vessel making landfall was worth the time fire the ship, and he’d been right, even if the landing itself had taken most of the day.

 

Cassiel followed him out of the cockpit. He had been fascinated by the entire process of landing  _ Caduceus _ , and was pretty keen on the workings of their own shuttle, too, especially in the cockpit. Seemed the boy had a natural interest in the aerial sciences.

 

He grinned at the kid even as he let his own eyes close, sinking still further into the extremely comfy couch. He was bone-tired. Everything that had happened the past week took its toll, in the end, and that meant he could barely keep his eyes open. Still, he’d fight sleep if need be. “What’d you think?” he asked Cassiel softly.

 

Without looking, he felt Cassiel settle on the couch beside him. "It was fun," said Cassiel. "I liked it. Are more big ships going to come down?"

 

“Probably not. Not many islands can hold them,” he said. “We'll find out soon enough, I figure.”

 

"Because we're going to go looking for more islands people will let the fleet use? We get to go lots of places, doing that." There was a hint of excitement in Cassiel's voice. He clearly liked the prospect of travel and exploration.

 

He opened his eyes, reached out and ruffled the boy's hair. “Exactly. Travel the world, meet new and interesting people, and give them cool stuff.”  Cassiel grinned.

 

"It's a whole new world," said Ren, joining them. "And it's going to keep getting newer, as all these changes start to spread."

 

“Wouldn't have it any other way,” he said, giving her another grin. He leaned back again. “After all, change brought the three of us together.” That was truth, no doubt about it. Change and chance and mad fate, but it had gone better than he expected, or deserved.

 

Ren came over and sat down beside him. "It did that," she agreed. "Out of all the change this world is going to see, I think we three got the best of it."

 

“Broken souls made whole,” he said softly.

**[Not quite]**

_ [We are one, together.] _

 

Ren took his hand and squeezed it. On his other side, Cassiel leaned into him, one little hand patting Glen's arm.

  
Glen smiled. Things were good. Getting better.


End file.
